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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 40705
   :PG.Title: Tom Wallis
   :PG.Released: 2012-09-07
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Louis Becke
   :MARCREL.ill: Lancelot Speed
   :DC.Title: Tom Wallis
              A Tale of the South Seas
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1903
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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TOM WALLIS
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   .. _`Cover`:

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      :alt: Cover

      Cover

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   .. _`'She was running before the Wind'`:

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      :alt: 'SO CLOSE THAT MANY OF HER PEOPLE COULD BE RECOGNIZED.'

      'SO CLOSE THAT MANY OF HER PEOPLE COULD BE RECOGNIZED.'  *See p.* `268`_.

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      TOM WALLIS

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      A TALE OF THE SOUTH SEAS

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      BY LOUIS BECKE

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      Author of 'Wild Life in Southern Seas'
      'By Reef and Palm' 'Admiral Philip' etc.

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      WITH ELEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY
      LANCELOT SPEED

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      SECOND IMPRESSION

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      LONDON
      THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
      4 BOUVERIE STREET AND
      65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
      1903

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      CONTENTS

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      CHAPTER

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      I.  `Father and Sons`_
      II.  `Captain Ramon Casalle and his Men`_
      III.  `How Tom lit a Fire on Misty Head, and what came of it`_
      IV.  `Captain Sam Hawkins and the Lady Alicia`_
      V.  `The Captain of the Bandolier`_
      VI.  `Tom meets some Strangers on Wreck Reef`_
      VII.  `Northward to the Solomons`_
      VIII.  `Captain Bully Hayes comes on Board`_
      IX.  `The Fight on Board the Leonie`_
      X.  `Tom and Maori Bill go on a Boat Voyage`_
      XI.  `Jack and his Father hear Good News`_
      XII.  `Henry Casalle also hears Good News`_
      XIII.  `Jack has Misgivings`_
      XIV.  `The Malolo sails in Search of Tom`_
      XV.  `On Alofi Island`_
      XVI.  `The ending of the Boat Voyage`_
      XVII.  `Back to Fotuna`_
      XVIII.  `Together at Last`_
      XIX.  `Outward Bound`_

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      LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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      `'She was running before the Wind'`_ . . . *Frontispiece*

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      `'She was soon run out of the Shed'`_

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      `'He lay stunned and Helpless'`_

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      `'How's that, my Son?'`_

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      `'A Black Wall of Sea towered high over the Rail'`_

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      `'Old Sam clambered up to the Fore-yard'`_

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      `'He saw a Man in the Dress of a Priest'`_

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      `'I'll pound the Life out of you'`_

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      `'Mr. Wallis turned the Key'`_

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      `'I shall say "No," said the Girl'`_

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      `'The Crew at once struck up a Canoe Song'`_

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.. _`FATHER AND SONS`:

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   TOM WALLIS

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   CHAPTER I

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   FATHER AND SONS

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Northward from an Australian city, and
hidden from seaward view by high wooded
bluffs and green belts of dense wind-swept
scrub, there lies one of the oldest and quaintest
little seaport towns on the whole eastern sea-board,
from the heat-smitten rocks of Cape York, in the
far north of torrid Queensland, to where, three
thousand miles to the south, the sweeping billows
from the icy Antarctic leap high in air, and thunder
against the grim and rugged walls of stark Cape Howe.

The house in which the Wallis family lived stood
at the foot of one of these bluffs, within a stone's
throw of the beach, and overlooking the bar; and
at night time, when the swift outward rush of the
river's current met the curling rollers from the open
sea, the wild clamour and throbbing hum seemed
to shake the walls of the old-fashioned building to
its foundations.  But to the two Wallis boys--who
were born in that house--the noise of the beating
surf, the hoarse shrieking notes of the myriad
sea-birds, and the sough of the trade wind through the
timbered slopes, were voices that they knew and
understood, and were in a manner part and parcel
of their own adventurous natures.

Let me try and attempt to draw, however rudely,
an outline of a picture of their home, and of the
sight that every morning the two lads saw from
their bedroom window, before they clattered
downstairs into the low-ceiled old-time dining-room, to
each eat a breakfast that would have done credit
to a hungry bullock-driver.

First, then, the wide, blue Pacific--would that I
could see it now!--sparkling and shimmering in the
yellow sunshine, unbroken in its expanse except
for the great dome of Kooringa Rock, a mile from
the shore, from which, when the wind blew east,
came the unceasing croak and whistle of ten
thousand gulls and divers, who made it their
rendezvous and sleeping-place.

To the north, on the other side of the roaring,
restless bar (the house was on the southern horn of
the entrance to the harbour), there ran a long
sweeping half-mooned beach, ten miles from point
to point of headland, and backed at high-water
mark by a thick fringe of low, scrubby timber, the
haunt of the black wallaby, and the refuge from
pursuit of mobs of wild cattle.  Not a dozen people
in the little township had ever been through this
scrub on foot; but Tom and Jack Wallis knew and
loved every foot of it, from the sandspit on the
northern bank of the river to the purple loom of
the furthest cape.  Further back still from this
narrow belt of littoral, the main coastal range
rose, grey and blue in the distance, monotonous
in its outlines, and its silence broken only by the
axes of a few wandering parties of timber-getters,
who worked on the banks of the many streams
rising in the mountain gullies, whose waters joined
those of the great tidal river on its way to the
ocean.

Southward from the bar, the coast presented
another aspect; high cliffs of black, iron-stone
rock stood up steep-to from the sea, not in a
continuous straight line, but in broken irregular
masses, forming hundreds of small deep bays with
lofty sides, and beaches of large rounded pebbles
or snow-white sand.  This part of the shore was
so wild and desolate, that except themselves, a
human being would seldom be seen about it from
one year's end to the other, and the boys only went
there during the crayfish season, or during an
easterly gale, when from the grassy summit of one
of the highest cliffs they loved to watch the
maddened boil of surf far below, and catch the
exhausted gulls and boobies, that sought refuge
ashore from the violence of the wind amid the
close-set, stunted herbage growing just beyond
the reach of the flying spray.  Iron-bound and
grim-looking, it did not extend more than six or
seven miles; and then came another long stretch
of sandy beach for thrice that distance, banked
up by lofty sand-dunes covered with a network of
creepers, and a saline herb known as 'pig-face.'

Behind the sand-hills were a series of brackish
lagoons, whose waters were covered with flocks of
black swans, pelicans, and half a dozen varieties of
wild duck and other waterfowl, which were seldom
disturbed by any of the few settlers round about,
who were too lazy to wade through water after a
duck, although some of them would ride all night
to steal a calf or a bullock.  These lagoons had,
here and there, narrow passages to the sea through
the sand mounds, and where this was the case the
waters were literally alive with fish--bream and
whiting, and kingfish and trevally, and--but there,
the memory of those happy, happy years of
boyhood amid such rough and wild surroundings is
strong with Tom Wallis still.  For the lads, as
their father sometimes said, were born in a civilized
family by mistake--Nature having intended them
to have black skins and woolly hair, and to hunt
paddymelons and wallabies with boomerang and
waddy, like the survivors of the tribe of blacks
who still led a lingering existence along the shores
and around the tidal lakes and inlets of that part
of the country.

Of the town itself near which they lived little
need be said, except that it was very quaint, and,
for a new country like Australia, old-fashioned.
Once, in the early days of the colony, it promised
to become a thriving and prosperous place.  Many
retired military and civilian officers had been given
very large grants of land in the vicinity of the
port, upon which they had settled, and at one
time many hundreds of convicts had been employed
by them.  Besides these, there was a large number
of prisoners who toiled on the roads, or in the
saw-pits, or up on the rivers felling timber, under
the supervision of Government overseers.  These
wretched men were generally marched to their
work every morning, returning to their barrack
prison at night time.  There had been at first a
company of soldiers stationed at the port, but
when it was discovered that the place was
ill-chosen for a settlement--in consequence of the
shifting nature of the bar--they were withdrawn
to Sydney with all the prisoners, except those who
were assigned to the settlers as servants or
workmen.  Then most of the principal settlers
themselves followed, and left their houses untenanted,
and their cleared lands to be overgrown, and become
swallowed up by the ever-encroaching scrub, which
in those humid coastal regions is more an Indian
jungle than bush, as Australians understand the
word 'bush.'  With the soldiers went, of course, the
leading civil officials, and the little seaport became
semi-deserted, grass grew in the long, wide streets,
and the great red-bricked barracks and Government
storehouses were left to silence and decay.

Nearly twenty years after the breaking up of
the settlement as a penal establishment, Lester
Wallis and his young wife had settled in the
place.  He had formerly been in the service of the
East India Company, where he had accumulated
a small fortune.  During a visit to Sydney, he
had met and married the daughter of one of the
Crown officials, an ex-naval officer, and, loth to
return to the trying climate of India, decided to
remain in Australia, and enter into pastoral pursuits.
For a few thousand pounds he bought a small
cattle-station at Port Kooringa, and, in a measure,
became the mainstay of the place, for, in addition
to cattle-raising, he revived the dying timber
industry, and otherwise roused the remaining
inhabitants of the little port out of their lethargic
indifference.  But fifteen years after he came to the
place, and when his two boys were fourteen and
thirteen years of age respectively, his wife died,
after a few hours' illness.  The blow was a heavy
one, and for the time crushed him.  He withdrew
himself almost entirely from such society as the
place afforded, dismissed most of his servants,
and lived for more than a year in seclusion, in
the lonely house facing the sea.  His affection for
his children, however, came to his aid, and did
much to assuage his grief.

'Jack, my lad,' he said to the elder boy, one
day, as they were riding along the northern beach,
'we must stick to each other always.  You and
Tom are all I have in the world to love.  Had
your mother lived, I should have liked to have
returned to England and ended my days there.
But she is gone, and now I have no desire to
leave Australia.  We shall stay here, Jack; and
you and Tom shall help me till you are both old
enough to choose your future.'

Jack, a sturdy, square-built youngster, with
honest grey eyes, nodded his head.

'I shall never want to leave you and Kooringa,
father.  I promised mother that before she died.
But Tom says he hopes you will let him go to
sea when he is old enough.'

Mr. Wallis smiled, and then sighed somewhat
sadly.  'Time enough to think of that, Jack.
But I would rather he thought of something else.
'Tis a poor life and a hard one.  But why do you
not want to be a sailor?'

Jack shook his head.  'I should like to be an
explorer--that is, I mean if you would let me.
I should like to cross Australia; perhaps I might
find Dr. Leichhardt'--and his eyes glistened; 'or
else I should like to ride round it from Port
Kooringa right up to Cape York, and along the
Gulf of Carpentaria and the coast of Arnhem's
Land and West Australia, and then along the
Great Bight back to Kooringa.  It would make
me famous, father.  Mother said it would be more
than ten thousand miles.'

Mr. Wallis laughed.  'More than that, Jack.
But who knows what may happen?  Perhaps I
may buy some cattle country in Queensland some
day; then you shall have a chance of doing some
exploring.  But not for some years yet, my boy,'
he added, placing his hand on his son's shoulder;
'I do not want to go away from Kooringa yet;
and I want to come back here, so that when my
time comes I may be laid beside *her*.'

'Yes, dad,' said the lad simply; 'I too want to
be buried near poor mother when I die.  Isn't it
awful to think of dying at some place a long way
from Kooringa, away from her?  That's what I told
Tom the other day.  I said that if he goes to sea
he might be drowned, or bitten in halves by a
shark, like the two convicts who tried to cross the
bar on a log when they ran away.  Father, don't
let Tom be a sailor.  We might never see him
again.  Wouldn't it be awful if he never came
back to us?  And mother loved him so, didn't
she?  Don't you remember when she was dying
how she made Tom lie down beside her on her
bed, and cried, "Oh, my Benjamin, my Benjamin,
my beloved"?'

'Yes, my lad,' answered the father, turning his
face towards the sea, which shone and sparkled
in the bright morning sunlight.  Then the two
rode on in silence, the man thinking of his dead
wife, and the boy dreaming of that long, long
ride of ten thousand miles, and of the strange
sights he might yet see.

From the broad front verandah of the quiet
house, young Tom had watched his father and
brother ride off towards the town, on their way to
the river crossing which was some miles distant
from the bar.  Once over the river, they would
have to return seaward along its northern bank,
till they emerged upon the ocean beach.  They
would not return till nightfall, or perhaps till the
following day, as Mr. Wallis wished to look for
some missing cattle in the scrubs around the base
of rugged Cape Kooringa, and 'Wellington,' one
of the aboriginal stockmen, had already preceded
them with a pack-horse carrying their blankets
and provisions, leaving Tom practically in charge,
although old Foster, a somewhat rough and crusty
ex-man-of-war's man, who had been Mrs. Wallis's
attendant since her childhood, was nominally so.
He with two or three women servants and the
gardener were all that were employed in, and
lived in the house itself, the rest of the hands
having their quarters at the stockyards, which
were nearly half a mile away.

Tom watched his brother and father till they
disappeared in the misty haze which at that early
hour still hung about the beach and the low
foreshore, although the sun had now, as Foster said,
a good hoist, and the calm sea lay clear and blue
beneath.  Then something like a sigh escaped
him, as his unwilling eye lighted upon his lesson-books,
which were lying upon the table of a little
enclosure at one end of the verandah, which did
duty as a schoolroom for his brother and himself.

'Well, it can't be helped,' he muttered; 'I
promised dad to try and pull up a bit--and there's
the tide going out fast.  How can a fellow dig
into school books when he knows it's going to be
a dead low tide, and the crayfish will be sticking
their feelers up everywhere out of the kelp?  Dad
said three hours this morning.  Now, what does it
matter whether it is this morning, or this
afternoon, or this evening?  And of course *he* didn't
think it would be such a lovely morning--and
he likes crayfish.  I wonder if he will be angry
when I tell him?'  Then, stepping inside, he called
out--

'Foster, where are you?'  There was a rattle
of knives in the pantry, and then the old man
shuffled along the passage, and came into the
dining-room.

'What now, Master Tom?' he grumbled; 'not
at your lessons yet?  'Tis nine o'clock----'

'Yes, I know, Foster.  But, Foster, just look at
the tip of Flat Rock showing up already.  It's
going to be a dead low tide, and----'

'Don't you dare now!  Ah, I know what you're
going to say.  No, I won't have it.  Leastways I
won't argy over it.  And don't you disobey orders--not
if all the crayfish in Australy was a runnin'
up out o' the water, and climbin' trees.'  Then,
screwing his features up into an affectation of
great wrath, he shuffled away again.

Tom's face fell, and again a heavy sigh escaped
him, as he looked at the shimmering sea, and saw
that beyond the bar it was as smooth as a
mountain lake.  Then he quietly opened the Venetian
shutters of the dining-room, and let the bright
sunlight stream in.

'It's no use,' he said to himself, 'I can't work
this morning.  I'll try and think a bit whether I
shall go or not.'

Over the mantel in the dining-room was a marine
picture.  It was but rudely painted in
water-colours--perhaps by some seaman's rough hand,--and
the lapse of five and twenty years had dimmed it
sadly; but to Tom's mind it was the finest
painting in the world, and redolent of wild adventure
and romance.  It showed as a background the
shore of a tropical island, the hills clothed with
jungle, and the yellow beach lined with palm trees,
while in the foreground the blue rollers of the
ocean churned into froth against a long curve of
coral reef, on which lay a man-of-war, with the
surf leaping high over her decks, and with main
and mizzen-masts gone.  On the left of the picture
was a beautiful white-painted brig, with
old-fashioned rolling topsails and with her mainyard
aback; and between her and the wreck were a
number of boats crowded with men in uniform,
escaping from the ship.

Often when the house was silent had Tom, even
when a boy of ten, stolen into the room, and, sitting
cross-legged on the rug, gazed longingly at the
painting which, to his boyish imagination, seemed
to live, ay, and speak to him in a wild symphony
of crashing surf and swaying palm trees, mingling
with the cries of the sailors and the shrill piping
of the boatswain's whistles.  Then, too, his eyes
would linger over the inscription that, in two lines,
ran along the whole length of the foot of the
picture, and he would read it over and over again to
himself gloatingly, and let his mind revel in visions
of what he would yet see when he grew old enough
to sail on foreign seas, as his father and his uncle
Fred Hemsley had done.  This is what the
inscription said:--

'The Wreck of the Dutch warship Samarang
on the coast of Timor Laut; and the Rescue of
her Crew by the English brig Huntress, of Sydney,
commanded by Mr. William Ford, and owned by
Frederick Hemsley, Esquire, of Amboyna; on the
morning of May 4, 1836.'

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Half an hour later old Foster clattered suddenly
along the verandah, peered into the schoolroom, and
then into the dining-room, where Tom sat in a
chair--still gazing at the picture.

'Rouse ye, rouse ye, Master Tom.  Your eyes
are better than mine.  Here, look'--and he placed
Mr. Wallis's telescope in the boy's hand--'look
over there beyond Kooringa Rock.  'Tis a drifting
boat, I believe.  Kate tells me that it was in sight
an hour ago, before your father and Master Jack
went away, and yet the foolish creature never
told me.'

Tom took the glass--an old-fashioned telescope,
half a fathom long, and steadied it against a
verandah post.

'Have you got her?' asked old Foster.

'Yes, yes,' answered the boy, quickly, his hand
shaking with excitement; 'I can see her, Foster.
There are people in her ... yes, yes, and they
are pulling.  I can see the oars dipping quite
plainly.  What boat can it be?'

'Shipwrecked people, o' course.  What would
any other boat be doin' out there, a comin' in
from the eastward?  Can you see which way she
is heading?'

'Straight in for the bar, Foster.'

'And nothing but a steamer could stem the
current now, with the tide runnin' out at six
knots; an' more than that, they'll capsize as soon
as they get abreast o' Flat Rock, and be aten up
by the sharks.  Master Tom, we must man our
boat somehow, and go out to them.  Then we
can pilot them in to the bit o' beach under Pilot's
Hill, if the current is too strong for us to get
back here.  But how we're going to launch the
boat, let alone man her, is the trouble; there's
not a man about the place but myself, and it will
take the best part of an hour to send Kate or
any other o' the women to the town and back.'

'Never mind that, Foster,' cried the boy; 'look
down there on the rocks--there are Combo, and
Fly, and some other black fellows spearing fish!
They will help us to launch the boat, and come
with us too.'

'Then run, lad; run as hard as ye can, and
bring them up to the boatshed, an' I'll follow as
soon as I get what I want.'

Seizing his cap, Tom darted away down the
hill, across the beach, and then splashed through the
shallow pools of water on the reef towards the party
of aboriginals; whilst old Foster, calling out to
Kate and the other women to get food ready
against his return, in case it might be wanted for
starving people, hurriedly seized some empty
bottles and filled them with water; then,
thrusting them into Jack's fishing-basket, which hung
on the wall of the back verandah, he followed
Tom down to the boatshed, where in a few minutes
he was joined by the lad himself, and four stalwart,
naked black fellows and their gins, all equally
as excited as the old sailor.

The boat was a long, heavy whaleboat, but she
was soon run out of the dark shed under the hill,
and then into the water.

.. _`'she was soon run out of the shed'`:

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   :alt: THE BOAT WAS SOON RUN OUT OF THE DARK SHED.

   THE BOAT WAS SOON RUN OUT OF THE DARK SHED.

'Jump in, everybody,' said old Foster, seizing
the steer oar, and swinging the boat's head round
to the open sea.





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.. _`CAPTAIN RAMON CASALLE AND HIS MEN`:

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   CHAPTER II


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   CAPTAIN RAMON CASALLE AND HIS MEN

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Under the five oars--Tom tugging manfully
at the bow, though still panting with his
previous exertions--the boat soon cleared
the entrance to the little rocky cove, which, during
the old convict days, had been made into a fairly
safe boat harbour--the only one, except an
unfrequented beach under Pilot's Hill, for many miles
along the coast.  Five minutes after the oars had
touched the water she was fairly racing seaward,
for she was in the full run of the ebbing tide as
it swept through the sandbanks and reefs which
lined the narrow bar.  Then, as the water deepened,
and the current lost its strength, Foster shielded
his eyes with his hands from the blazing sun, and
looking ahead, tried to discern the approaching
boat.

'I can't see her anywhere!' he exclaimed
presently; 'easy there, pulling.  Perhaps she's in a
line with Kooringa Rock, and we won't see her
for another half-hour yet.  Jump up, Combo, and
take a look ahead.'

Combo, a huge, black-bearded fellow, with a
broad much-scarred chest, showed his white teeth,
drew his oar across, and sprung upon the after
thwart.  For two or three seconds he scanned the
sea ahead, then he pointed a little to the
northward of Kooringa Rock.

'I see um,' he said with a laugh; 'he long way
yet--other side Kooringa--two fella mile yet, I
think it;' then he added that the people in the
boat had ceased pulling, and that she seemed to be
drifting broadside to the southward with the current.

Old Foster nodded.  'That'll do, Combo, my
boy.  You've eyes like a needle.  I can't see for
the sun blaze right ahead.  Give it to her, lads;'
then he kept away a point or two to the southward,
so as to pass close under Kooringa Rock, against
the grim, weed-covered sides of which only the
faintest swell rose and fell, to sway the hanging
masses of green and yellow kelp to and fro.  At
any other time Tom's eyes would have revelled
in the sight, and at the swarms of fish of all
colours and shapes which swam to and fro in the
clear water around the rock, or darted in and out
amongst the moving kelp; but now his thoughts
were centred solely on the boat's present
mission--they were going to rescue what would most
likely prove to be shipwrecked people--perhaps
foreigners who could not speak English!  Oh, how
beautiful it was!  And every nerve and fibre in his
body thrilled with pleasure, as, with the perspiration
streaming down his face, he watched his oar,
and listened for the next word of command from
the old sailor.

For a brief minute or two, as the boat passed
along the base of the towering dome above, the
fierce sun was lost, and Tom gave a sigh of relief,
for although he had thrown off all but his shirt
and trousers, his exertions were beginning to tell
upon him, and he looked with something like envy
at the smooth, naked backs of Combo and his
sooty companions, who took no heed of the sun,
but whose dark eyes gazed longingly at the white
masses of breeding gulls and boobies which covered
the grassy ledges near the summit of the rock.
Then out again into the dazzling glare once more,
and Foster gave a cry--'Avast pulling!  There
she is, close to, but pulling away from us!'

Tom jumped up and looked, and saw the strange
boat.  She was not more than half a mile away,
and he could see the people in her quite plainly;
she was again heading towards the entrance to
the bar.

'Give way, lads,' said Foster; 'they're only pulling
three oars to our five, and we'll soon be within
hailing of 'em.  They can't make any headway
against the ebb, when they get in a bit further,
and are bound to see us afore many minutes.'

The crew--black and white--needed no
encouragement, and without a word bent to their
oars again, and pulled steadily on for less than a
quarter of an hour; then Foster stood up and
hailed with all the strength of his lungs; but still
the three oars of the strange boat were dipped
steadily though slowly, and she still went on.

'They're not looking this way,' muttered the
old man to Combo and his listening companions;
then Combo himself, drawing in a deep breath,
stood up and sent out a long, loud *Coo-ee-ee!*

As the strange weird cry travelled over the
waters, Foster and his companions watched intently,
and then gave a loud hurrah! as they saw the
rowers cease, and figures stand up in the other
boat; then presently there came back a faint
answering cry, and they saw an oar was up-ended,
as a sign that they were seen.  It stood thus for
a few seconds, then was lowered, and the strange
boat slewed round, and began pulling towards them.

'Steady, now steady,' said Foster, warningly, to
his crew, who began pulling with redoubled energy.
'Go easy; we'll be alongside in no time now.
Master Tom, in with your oar, and come aft here.
Take out a couple of those bottles of water, and
keep 'em handy, but put the others out o' sight
until I tell you.  There's a power o' men in that
boat, I can see, and I know what happens to a
man perishin' o' thirst, when he gets his lips to
water, and has no one to stand by him and take
a turn in his swallow.'

Tom stumbled aft pantingly, and did as he was
bid, and then, looking up, he saw the other boat
was not a hundred yards away, and appeared
crowded with men.  Then followed a wild clamour
of voices and cries, as the two boats touched
gunwales, and a strange, rugged figure, who stood
in the stern, cried out to Foster--

'Thank God, you are a white man!  Have you
any water?--ours was finished last night.'

'Enough to give you all a small drink,' replied
Foster, quickly, as he handed the bottles over to
him one by one, 'but we shall be ashore in
another hour.  Now, sir, tell some of your men
to get into my boat as soon as they've had a drink.'

Although the castaways were the wildest-looking
beings ever seen out of a picture-book,
they still preserved discipline, and one of them at
once began sharing out the water to the others,
whilst the man who was steering, with his hands
shaking with excitement, poured out a little into
a tin mug, handed the rest back to Foster with
an imploring look, and then sank on his knees in
the bottom of the boat beside a small, crouched-up
figure clothed in a dirty calico shirt.  As Tom
bent over to look, he saw that it was a child--a
little girl about five or six years of age.  She put
her hand out to the mug, and with her eyes
still closed drank it eagerly.

'No more, sir, just now!' cried Foster warningly
to the man, who, with a great sob of joy, and the
tears streaming from his haggard and sun-blackened
face, had extended his hand for the bottle,
'no more just now for the little one.  Pass her
into my boat, and get in yourself; but first take
some of this,' and he poured out a full drink.

The officer took it, drank half, and then
returned it.  'Is that all that is left?  Are you sure
that we are safe?  For God's sake keep what is
left for my child!'

'Ay, ay, sir.  Have no fear.  In another hour
we shall be ashore.  But hand me the little one,
sir--pass me a tow-line here, some o' you chaps;
an' you, Combo, an' Fly, an' the other chap, put
on all your beef, and pull with all your might....
Tom, you sit down there with the captain, an'
hold the babby....  Never fear, sir, he'll hold her
safe, God bless her, dear little mite! ... Cheer up,
sir; food an' rest is all she wants, an' all you an'
these other poor chaps want....  Pull, Combo,
my hearty; pull, Fly; send her along as she never
went before.'

Tom, unheeding the excitement of those around
him, as a tow-line was passed from the other boat
and made fast, and Combo and his two black
companions, aided by one of the castaway sailors,
bent to their oars and tautened it out, was gazing
into the face of his charge, who lay quietly
breathing in his arms, whilst her father, weak and
exhausted as he was, was telling old Foster his story
of disaster and death.  It was the first time in
Tom's life that he had ever held 'a baby'--as he
mentally termed the little girl--in his arms, and
under any other circumstances his youthful soul
would have recoiled from such a position with
horror.  But presently, as she turned her face to
his, and said in a thin, weak voice, 'Give me
some water, please,' he began to shake at the
knees, and feel frightened and intensely
sympathetic at the same time.

'Only a little, Master Tom; only a mouthful
at a time;' and old Foster, his face aglow with
excitement, handed him the bottle of water and
mug, and Tom carefully poured out about a wine-glassful,
and put it to the lips of what, to his mind,
seemed more like a dying monkey, with a wig of
long black hair, than a real human child.

As the boats drew near the little boat harbour
under Pilot's Hill, even the exhausted seamen in
the one which was being towed gave a faint cheer,
shipped their oars, and began to pull.  The sea
was still glassy smooth, for it was in November,
when a calm would sometimes last for three days
and more, only to be succeeded by a black
north-easterly gale.

Standing on the shore awaiting the boats were
nearly every one of Mr. Wallis's people, who were
presently joined by some few of the townspeople,
who had heard of something being afoot at the
Beach House, as the Wallis's place was called.

'Jump out, Master Tom,' cried Foster, as the
leading boat touched the soft, yielding sand, 'and
give the baby to Kate.  She'll know what to do.'

Tom, his chest swelling with a mighty dignity,
surrendered his charge to its father for the moment,
leaped out of the boat, and then held out his arms
again for it, as if he had been used to carrying
babies all his life; and Kate Gorman, a big-boned
red-headed Irishwoman, splashed into the water
with eyes aflame, and whipped the child away
from him, and then, followed by the other women,
and cuddling the now wondering child to her
ample bosom, she pushed through the rest of the
people, and strode up the grassy hill, leaving Tom
bereft of his dignity and importance together.

Food and drink in plenty had been brought by
the women, as Foster had ordered, and the famished
seamen, after satisfying themselves, lay down upon
the sweet-smelling grass above high water, to
stretch and rest their cramped and aching limbs,
before setting out to walk to Beach House along
the edge of the cliffs, for there was no other way.
And then there came to Tom the proudest moment
of his life, when old Foster, who was sitting on
the grass with the dark-faced, haggard man whom
he had addressed as 'Sir,' beckoned him to come
near, and, rising to his feet, said--

'An' this, captain, is Master Tom Wallis, sir,
the master's son.  I sarved with his mother's
father, an'----'

The captain stretched out his hand to the boy,
and grasped it warmly, as Tom hung his head and
shuffled his feet, his face a deep red the while
with delight.

'An' now, Master Tom,' resumed old Foster,
throwing back his chest and trying to speak with
great dignity, 'there's a great responsibility on us
until your father comes home.  Do you think you
can find him at Cape Kooringa, and tell him to
come back as quick as possible, inasmuch as there
is a party of sufferin' and distressed seamen
a-landed at his door, one of which is a infant, and
needs medical aid at once?'

Tom's face beamed.  'I can saddle a horse an'
be at the cattle camp at Cape Kooringa long before
sunrise.  Is there any other message, Mr. Foster?'

'Yes; tell your father that there are thirteen
men, includin' the captain, and one infant child.
Name of captain Raymon' Cashall, name of ship
Bandolier.  Ran ashore on the south end o'
Middleton Reef, on a certain date, slipped off again
and foundered in deep water.  One boat, with
chief mate and seven men, still a-missin'.  Can
you remember all them offishul details, Tom?'

'Yes, Mr. Foster,' said Tom, who had before
this heard the old sailor use similarly impressive
language when occasion demanded it.

'Then, as soon as you gets to the house, and
before you saddles your horse and goes off in
pursooance of your dooty, I rekwests that you will
rekwest Kate Gorman to send some person
(Mrs. Potter's boy will do) to meet me and the captain
and his distressed and sufferin' seamen, with two or
more bottles of brandy, and some water, the key of
the lazarette being in my room.  Please tell your
father that these are sufferin' an' distressed seamen,
with an infant as mentioned, with no clothes, the
ship having gone down sudden soon after strikin',
the second mate an' the captain's wife havin' died
through bein' drownded when the ship struck an'
washed overboard by a heavy sea, with two men, a
Bengalee steward, another man name unknown,
and a native nurse girl.'

With this rapidly delivered and puzzling message
beating kink-bobs in his already excited brain,
Tom started off, hot-foot.  The 'lazarette' he
knew to mean the cellar--Foster was fond of using
the term.  Kate Gorman had lived with them ever
since Jack's birth.

Kate, red-fisted, red-haired, and honest-hearted,
met the boy at the door, her rough freckled face
beaming with smiles, though her red-hot tongue
had a minute before been going unusually fast, as
she rated and bullied the under-servants for being
slow in bringing 'hot wather and flannels for the
blessed child.'

'The brandy shall Misther Foster have widin
twinty minutes by the grace av God, for I'll bust
open the dure av his lazzyrett widout trapasin'
about for his ould keys.  But not a step shall ye
move yoursilf till ye've aten and dhrunk somethin'
afore ye go ridin' along to Kooringa, an' the black
of the night a comin' on fast.'

And then the big Irishwoman, bustling and
bristling with importance, yet speaking in a low
voice on account of the 'swate blessed choild'--who
lay slumbering on a bed that in Kate's eyes
was for ever sacred--hurried first to the kitchen,
and then to the stables, and, before he knew it,
Tom's horse was ready saddled, and a huge dinner
steaming and smoking placed before him.

'I can't eat, Kate,' he said; 'it is no use my
trying.  I want to get to Kooringa Cape to-night.
I promised Foster.'

Kate bent down and clasped him in her arms.

'An' God go wid ye, Tom, me darlin'.  Shure
there's no danger, tho' 'tis a lonely ride along the
beach.  An', Tom, darlin', me swate, ask your
father to hurry, hurry, hurry.  For tho' I've niver
borne a child meself, 'tis plain to me it is that the
little one that lies a slapin' in your own mother's
bed, will niver, niver wake in this world, unless
some strathegy is done.  An' there's no docther
widin fifty mile av Port Kooringa; but the
masther is full av docthorin' strathegy.  So away
ye go, Tom, an' all the blessin's av God go wid ye.'

So Tom, with a thrill of exultation and pride,
led his horse down the hill to the shore, and
springing into the saddle, set off at a steady trot
along the long curving beach, towards the grey
loom of Kooringa Cape, fifty miles away.





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.. _`HOW TOM LIT A FIRE ON MISTY HEAD, AND WHAT CAME OF IT`:

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   CHAPTER III


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   HOW TOM LIT A FIRE ON MISTY HEAD, AND WHAT CAME OF IT

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Restraining his desire to put his horse into
a gallop, Tom went steadily along for the
first eight or ten miles, riding as near as
possible to the water's edge, where the sand was
hard, though by this time the tide was rising, and
he knew that in another hour he would have to
leave the beach entirely and pick up a cattle-track,
which ran through the thick scrub, a few hundred
yards back from high-water mark.  Although the
sun was still very hot, a south-easterly breeze
had sprung up, and its cooling breath fanned the
boy's heated face, and gave an added zest to
the happiness of his spirits, for he was happy
enough in all conscience.  Here was he, he thought,
only thirteen years of age, and the participator
in the rescue of a shipwrecked crew, the full tale
of whose disaster had yet to be told.  Where, he
wondered, did the Bandolier sail from, and whither
was she bound, when she ran ashore at Middleton
Reef?  Oh, how heavenly it would be to-morrow,
when he, and his father, and Jack were back at
home, listening to the story of the wreck!  And what
strange-looking, tattooed sailors were those with the
reddish-brown skins, and the straight jet-black
hair like Red Indians?  South Sea Islanders, of
course! but of what Islands?  And how long
would they stay at Port Kooringa?  Oh, how
beautiful it would be if they could not get away for
a long time, so that he might make friends with
them all!  Perhaps some of the brown men with the
tattooed arms and legs would teach him to talk their
language, and tell him about their island homes,
where the palm trees grew thickly on the beaches,
and the canoes floated upon the deep blue waters
of the reef-encircled lagoons!  Perhaps Captain
Casalle might take a liking to him, and--he bent
over his saddle and flushed with pleasure at the
mere thought--and take him away when he got
another ship.  Oh, he did so hope that his father
and the captain would become friends; then it
would be so much easier (the 'it' being his father's
consent to his becoming a sailor).

And so with such thoughts as these chasing
quickly through his imagination, he was at last
recalled to the present by the sound of splashing
about his horse's feet, as the spent rollers sent
every now and then thin, clear sheets of water
swashing gently up the sand.

'Come, Peter, old chap,' he said, patting his
willing horse on the neck, 'we must get up out of
this on to the track, it's getting too soft;' and
jumping off, he led the animal straight up over
the loose, yielding sand which lay between the
water's edge and the fringe of the scrub.  Taking
a drink from his canvas water-bag as he reached
the end of the sand, he mounted again, and was
soon riding along the track, which ran through a
forest of native apple, whose thick umbrageous
canopies of dark green shut out the sunlight so
effectually, that the sudden transition made it
appear as if he had moved from light to
semi-darkness.  From the leafy crowns of the trees,
and stretching across or hanging in giant loops
upon the ground, or swinging high above, was a
network of great snaky vines, black, brown, and
mottled, and so full of water that, as Tom well
knew, he had but to cut off a four-foot length
to obtain a full quart of the clear though astringent
liquid.  Now and then, as his horse's shoeless feet
disturbed the loose carpet of fallen leaves, a
frightened wallaby would bound away with heavy
thumping leaps into the still gloomier shadows on
the left, or down towards the ocean, whose softened
and lulling murmur sounded as if the shore on
which its waves curled and broke were miles and
miles away, instead of scarce more than a stone's
throw; though now and then, when the sea breeze
rustled the dome of green above, it sang its
never-ending song in louder tone.  Sometimes there
came a whirr of wings, as with harsh screaming
notes a flock of green and golden parrakeets,
intent upon feeding on the ripe wild apples, would
flash by, and their cries perhaps be answered by
the long-drawn-out note of a stock-whip bird.

The end of the first belt of scrub at last, and
Tom emerged out into the open again--a wide
stretch of dried-up swamp, along the seaward
margin of which the track led in a waving line of
white, hardened clay.  Far back on the other side
were clumps of tall, melancholy swamp gums, and
beyond these the thickly timbered spurs of the
coast range, standing out clearly and sharply in
the blaze of the sinking sun.

'Come, Peter, my boy, it's getting cooler now,
and you shall have a drink when we get to the
Rocky Waterholes, behind Misty Head;' and Peter,
tough old stock horse, to whom fifty miles, with such
a light weight and easy-handed rider as was Tom,
was a matter of no hardship, shook his clean-cut
head, and giving an answering snort, set off at a
steady swift canter, glad to be free of the curse of
pestering flies, which in the sunlight hung about
his nostrils, and crept into the corners of his big
black eyes.  An hour later, and just as the sun had
sunk, a blazing ball of yellow, behind the purpling
range, Tom drew rein at a spot known as the
Rocky Waterholes--a series of small deep pools
of limpid water at the back of a headland, whose
high bold front rose stark from the sea.  He had
still five and twenty miles to ride before reaching
the cattle-camp at Kooringa Cape, where he
expected to find his father and Jack--unless, indeed,
he met them returning driving the missing cattle,
which was hardly likely, without they had met
with them near a great fresh-water swamp at the
back of Misty Head.  Anyway, he thought, he
would give Peter a bit of a spell for half an hour.
If his father and Jack were already returning,
they would be almost sure to stop at the Rocky
Waterholes, and wait till the tide fell again--which
would be towards dawn--instead of trying
to drive the cattle along the track through the
scrub in the darkness, and run the risk of some
of them breaking away, and being lost.

Leading Peter up to one of the Waterholes, he
let him drink his fill, and unbuckling the ends of
the bridle, turned the animal adrift to feed upon
the sweet grass and juicy 'pig-face' growing lower
down.  Then a sudden inspiration came to Tom.
He would light a fire on the top of Misty Head;
it would only take a few minutes, and if his father
and Jack happened to be near, they would be
sure to come and see who had lit it, and thus he
could not possibly miss them.

The landward side of the head was mostly
covered with a dense thicket, resembling the English
privet, but as it did not reach higher than his waist,
Tom forced his way through, and with some
difficulty reached the summit--a little cleared space
less than half an acre in extent, and free of scrub,
but covered with coarse, dry grass about a foot
high, swaying and rustling to the wind, which as
the sun set had freshened.  Lower down, on both
sides, were a number of thick, stunted honeysuckles;
and feeling his way very cautiously--for
a slip meant a fall of two hundred feet or
more into the sea below--Tom began to collect
some of the dead branches, and then returned
with them to the top.  Once he had lit a fire,
he would have light enough to show him where
to find a thicker log or two, for there were many
dead honeysuckles about, he knew, as the place
was familiar to him.  Pulling up some of the
dried grass, and placing some twigs on the top,
he struck a match and lit the heap.  It blazed up
crisply, and in a few minutes he could see his
surroundings clearly.

'That's all right,' said Tom to himself; 'now for
some big logs, and then I'll be off.'

Fifty feet away the gnarled and rugged branches
of a dead and fallen honeysuckle stood revealed
in the firelight, and he walked toward it.  Taking
hold of one of the largest branches, he began to
drag it towards the fire, when he felt a smart puff
of wind, and then heard an ominous crackle behind
him, and then followed a sudden blaze of light--the
long grass around the fire had caught, and a
puff of wind had carried the flames to the scrub!
Too late to avert the disaster, Tom dropped the
log with a cry of terror, for he knew what a
bush-fire at that dry time of the year meant; and,
most of all, he dreaded the anger of his father for
his carelessness.  For a moment or two he stood
gazing at the result of his folly; and then a cry
of alarm broke from his lips as another eddying
gust of wind came, and the flames answered with
a roar as they swept through the scrub with a
speed and fury that told Tom that in a few
minutes they would be leaping and crashing into
the timber on the other side of the Rocky
Waterholes, and thence into the ranges beyond.
And then, too, not only was his own retreat cut off,
but the fire on the summit was eating its way to
windward, and unless he could find some place of
retreat on the sea-face or sides of the head, he
stood a very good chance of becoming a victim to
his own stupidity.  As he looked about, undecided
whether to try to get in advance of the flames by
forcing his way through the dense jungle of the
north side, down to the water, and then
clambering along the rocks to where he had left his
horse, or get over the edge of the cliff to a place
of safety, there came another bursting roar, and a
huge wall of flame sprang up and leapt and
crashed through the gums and other lofty trees
which grew close to the landward side of the
Waterholes--the bush itself had caught.  And as
Tom gazed in guilty fear at the scene of devastation,
he saw his horse break through the stunted
herbage above the beach on the north side and
gallop down to the water, where he stopped,
terrified at the sudden rush of fire, and, no doubt,
wondering what had become of his master.

The sight of the horse standing there on the
beach in full glare of the flames, which now were
lighting up the sea and hiding the land beyond
in dense volumes of blood-red smoke, as the wind
carried them inland, filled the boy's heart with a
new fear--for his father and Jack.  Perhaps at
that moment they were between Misty Head and
the range.  If so, then they were in imminent
danger, for he knew that, unless they were near
the beach, they would be cut off and perish, for
now the wind, as if to aid in the work of
destruction, was blowing strongly.  A prayer that they
might be far away at Kooringa Cape rose to his
lips, and then, as he saw Peter still standing and
looking about in expectancy, he, like a brave lad,
pulled himself together.  He would climb down
the north side of the head, before the fire, which
was steadily working downward to the water, cut
him off from the mainland altogether, and kept
him there until morning.  Force his way down
through the close scrub he could not, for the
rapidly creeping flames, feeding upon the dried
leaves and undergrowth, would overtake him
before he was halfway down; but there was, he
knew, a break in the density of the scrub, caused
by a zigzag and narrow cleft in the side of the
head, reaching from near the summit to the
boulders of blacktrap rock at the foot.  A few
minutes' search showed him the most suitable
spot from where to begin the descent, and guided
by the light of the fire--which revealed every
leaf and stone as clearly as if it were broad
daylight--he soon reached the top of the cleft, which
for the first fifty or sixty feet ran eastwards
towards the beach, and then made a sudden and
downward turn to the sea.  The sides, though
terribly rugged, afforded him excellent facilities
for descent, as, besides the jutting stones which
protruded out of the soil, tough vines and short
strong shrubs gave him good support.

'Easier than I imagined,' said Tom to himself,
thinking of the pride he would have in relating
his feat to Jack in the morning; 'now here's the
beginning of the straight up-and-down
part.'  Grasping the thin stem of a small stumpy tree,
with prickly leaves, known to the boys as
'bandy-leg,' he peered over.  Suddenly he felt that the
tree was yielding at the roots; he flung out his
left hand for further support, and clutched a vine
about as thick as a lead pencil.  It broke, and,
with a gasp of terror, poor Tom pitched headlong
down, bounding from side to side, and crashing
through the stunted herbage, till he struck the
bottom, where he lay stunned and helpless, and
bleeding from a jagged cut on the back of his
head.

.. _`'He lay stunned and Helpless'`:

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   :alt: HE STRUCK THE BOTTOM, WHERE HE LAY STUNNED AND BLEEDING.

   HE STRUCK THE BOTTOM, WHERE HE LAY STUNNED AND BLEEDING.

For some time he lay thus, and then, as returning
consciousness came, he groaned in agony; for,
besides the wound on his head, the fingers of his
left hand were crushed, and he felt as if the arm
were half torn from the socket.  Wiping the dust
and rubble, with which he was nearly blinded,
from his face, he drew himself up into a sitting
position, and began to feel his left arm from the
shoulder down, fearing from the intense pain that
one or more bones were broken; but in a few
moments he found he could bend it.  Groping
about carefully--for the spot where he had fallen
was in darkness, though he could discern the sea,
not far below, still gleaming dully from the light
of the fire--he found that the soil and rocks about
him were quite dry and warm to the touch;
evidently, therefore, he was some distance from
the base of the head and above high-water
mark.  Slowly and painfully he crawled towards
the opening, and discovered that he was about
twenty feet over the water, just at the point
where all vegetation ceased and bare rock began.

Already he was feeling thirst, and had he been
able to use his left arm, he would have climbed
down to the sea and swum round to the beach,
where he felt sure that Peter was still awaiting
him, with the water-bag hanging to the saddle
dees.  He leant his back against a rock, for now
a deadly sickness came over him, and he went off
into a long faint.

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Ten miles away, and camped near a grassy
headland known as the Green Bluff, was a party
of eleven men, three of whom were watching the
red glow of Misty Head; the rest were lying upon
the grass, sleeping the sleep of exhausted nature.
The three who watched were Mr. Wallis, Jack,
and the black stockman, Wellington; those who
slept were the first mate and seven of a boat's
crew of the Bandolier.  Only a few hours previously
the latter had made the coast at the mouth
of a small fresh-water creek, running into the sea
at the Green Bluff, and were discovered there by
Jack, who was tailing some cows and calves on the
bank, whilst his father and Wellington were
looking for the rest of the missing cattle further up
the creek.  The moment Jack heard the officer's
story, he ran to the pack-horse, which was quietly
standing under the shade of a mimosa, unshipped
the packs (containing cooked beef, damper, and
tea and sugar) and lit a fire, whilst one of the
sailors filled the big six-quart billy with water from
the creek.  Then, picking up his father's shot-gun
which was carried on the pack-horse, he loaded it
with ball, jumped on his horse again, cut off a cow
with a year-old calf from the rest of the mob,
drove them a little apart from the others, and sent
a bullet into the calf's head.  Without wasting
time to skin the animal, the half-famished seamen
set about cutting up and cooking it (having first
devoured the piece of cooked beef and damper).
Then waving his hand to the officer, and telling him
that he would be back with his father in an hour
or less, Jack set of at a gallop in search of him.
The officer, a tall, hatchet-faced New Englander,
nodded his head--his mouth being too full to
speak--and then turned his hollow eyes with a look
of intense satisfaction and solicitude upon the
frizzling and blood-stained masses of veal.

Towards sunset, Mr. Wallis, Jack, and Wellington
came cantering down along the bank of the creek,
and the genial, kind-hearted squatter, though the
advent of the shipwrecked men meant the
abandonment of his search for the rest of the cattle,
and the loss of much valuable time, sprang from
his horse, and shook hands warmly with the
officer, as he congratulated him upon his safe
arrival.

'You must camp here with us to-night,' he said,
'and perhaps to-morrow as well, or at least until
such time as you and your men are sufficiently
recovered to walk to Port Kooringa.  In the
morning, however, I shall send my black boy on
in advance, and he will meet us with some more
provisions.  For the present we can manage--the
creek is alive with fish, fresh beef is in
plenty'--pointing to the grazing mob of cows and
calves,--'and you and your men, above all things, need
rest.  Now, tell me, do you smoke?'

'Smoke, mister?' and the man's voice shook; 'ef
I get a smoke I'll just be in heaven.  But I can't
do it here, with those poor men a-looking at me.
Every one of them is as good a man as me, although
I did hev ter belt the life out of them sometimes.'

Mr. Wallis slipped his pipe, tobacco pouch, and
a box of matches into the officer's hand.  'Go down
to the creek and lie down there and smoke,' he
said with a smile; 'I wish I had more tobacco for
your men.'

As the mate crept away like a criminal, clutching
the precious pipe and tobacco in his gaunt,
sun-baked hand, Wellington cried out, and pointed
towards Misty Head--

'Hallo! look over there!  Big feller fire alonga
Misty Head.'

Mr. Wallis turned and watched, and as he saw
the lurid flames and huge volumes of smoke rise,
and then sweep quickly down the incline of the
head, toward the dark line of bush beyond, he
could not repress a groan of vexation and anger,
for he knew that, with such a strong breeze, the
whole coast would be aflame in a few hours, and
hundreds of miles of country on Kooringa Run be
swept in its devastating course, and cause him to
lose some thousands of pounds.  Then in addition
to this, and of more importance to his generous
mind--for money itself held no sway on a nature
such as his--was the fact that he and the
shipwrecked seamen would have to make their way to
Port Kooringa along the beach as the tide served,
for they could not for some days traverse the
burnt-out country at the back of the many
headlands and capes, as the ground would be a furnace
covered with ashes.

Towards midnight, Wellington, who was on
watch, roused his master, and reported that the
fire was rapidly travelling towards the Green Bluff,
and would be upon them in an hour.  This was
serious, for there was no beach to which they could
retreat on either side of the bluff for many miles,
and the country on the opposite side of the little
creek was, though free from scrub, clothed in long
grass, which a single flying spark would set ablaze.

Awakening the officer, he explained the situation
to him, and suggested a way of escaping from the
danger which menaced them by taking to the boat,
putting to sea, and making direct for Port Kooringa
at once.

Tired as were the mate and his men, they at
once acquiesced.  The cattle and horses were
driven across the creek, and left to take care of
themselves, the boat's water-breaker filled, and the
saddles and other gear were placed in the boat,
only just in time, for already the heat of the flames
was getting oppressive.  There was but little surf
at the mouth of the creek, and the instant the
boat had passed through it, the ragged sail was
set, and she slipped through the water.

'Don't go too close to Misty Head,' said Mr. Wallis
to the officer; 'there is always a strong
tide-rip there.'

The officer altered the boat's course.

Poor Tom, just as the daylight broke, saw her
sail pass about a mile off.  He stood up and
shouted till he was hoarse; and then, when he
realized that she was too far off for him to be
heard, or even seen in such a position, sat down
and wept, forgetting his bodily pain in his anguish
of spirit.

But, as the sun rose, his thirst became overpowering,
and rising to his feet with a prayer for
strength upon his lips, he began to make his way
along the foot of the rocks.  His arm was less
painful now, but three of his fingers were black,
swollen, and useless, and the wound in his head
every now and then made him faint.  When
half-way to the beach, he saw that the water was
sufficiently shallow for him to wade ashore on the
clear, sandy bottom, instead of toiling over the
rocks, so getting down at a spot where it was not
over his knees, he first immersed his whole body
and then bathed his head and face.  The stinging,
smarting sensation caused him fresh pain, but he
set his teeth and bore it manfully, knowing that
the salt water would do the cut on his head more
good than harm, even though it made it bleed afresh.

With renewed courage--for the cool water had
revived him wonderfully--he waded along cheerfully,
his thoughts now turning to his father and
Jack, for whom he was not at all alarmed, knowing
that both of them were too good bushmen to be
caught by a bush fire, no matter how suddenly it
had come upon them.  If they were camped at
Kooringa Cape, there was no danger for them at
all, as a few miles this side of it there was a wide
tidal river, and if they had been anywhere near
the Rocky Waterholes when the fire started they
would have sought safety on one of the small
islands in the Big Swamp.  Anyway he would be
home to-morrow, or the next day, if he had to
keep to the beach--and no doubt would meet
some one coming to look for him; for unless
Peter had met his father's party, the animal was
bound to make for home, and be seen by some
person.  Then that boat!  Of course it must have
been the missing boat from the Bandolier--no
other boat would be coming down the coast, surely!
Oh, if he were only home to know!  But a drink
first before he decided what to do.

Stepping out of the water on to the hard dry
sand, Tom ascended the bank, and then a cry of
dismay escaped from him--the Rocky Waterholes
were surrounded by a belt of blazing logs, and it
was impossible for him to approach within a hundred
yards, and the holes themselves were not to be
seen!

Tom returned to the beach to consider.  He
*must* get a drink, and there was none to be had
on the way back home, except from the thick
vines in the scrub through which he had ridden the
previous morning.  But was there any scrub left?
As far as he could see to the southward, the coast
was still burning, and even if the scrub where the
vines grew had escaped, he could not cut one,
for he had lost his knife when he fell.  Well, he
must try and get along the beach and round the
cliffs, further on, to the creek at the Green Bluff.
There was always deep running water there; and
now he began to think of nothing else--he must
get a drink, or he could never attempt to walk all
the way to Port Kooringa.  Oh, if he could but
get to the creek quickly! he thought, as, taking
off his boots and socks, which were filled with
coarse gritty sand, he tied them together with the
laces, and set out along the hard beach.  If it
were only five miles of such easy walking as the
first two, he would soon reach there; but the
remaining three were the trouble--three miles of
rocky shore, under a blazing sun, and with his
head making him feel strange and faint.

Never once halting, the lad kept steadily on,
trying hard not to lose courage, for every minute
he felt his strength failing him, and a strange
buzzing noise was in his ears, and the yellow
sand seemed to dance and twist about and sink
away from his feet.  Oh for a drink, a drink!
A long drink would set him right again, he kept
repeating to himself; there was nothing really
much the matter with him except his head.

At last he came to the end of the beach, put
on his boots, and began to climb over the first
point of rocks.  This took him much longer than
he anticipated, and he slipped and fell heavily
once or twice.  Then came a succession of small
deep bays, the shores of which were covered with
smooth loose pebbles, giving way to every step,
and terribly exhausting to walk over.  Then
again another point--a flat reef of rocks running
out some distance into the sea, dangerous,
slippery, and covered with a greasy green weed, and
awash at high water.  Tom had never before
walked along this part of the coast, and at any
other time its wild loneliness would have pleased
his Nature-loving imagination--now it appalled
and terrified the poor boy, who, though he did
not know it, was rapidly becoming physically
exhausted from the injury to his head, which was
more serious than he imagined.

Once over the wide stretch of smooth rocks, he
took heart again; Green Bluff, now black and
smoking, seemed quite near.  Another little bay,
and then another, and panting and half frantic
with excitement and thirst, Tom stumbled blindly
over the loose stones and gravel, which were heaped
up in ridges on the narrow foreshore.  Surely, he
asked himself, there could not be many more of
these dreadful stony winding bays, backed up by
steep walls of rock.  Once more a high point
obstructed him; and now an insensate rage took
possession of him.  With blazing eyes, and
parched and cracking lips, he sprang at the great
boulders, slipping and falling again and again, to
rise with bleeding hands and face, a dazed
determination in his whirling brain to get to the
water at the Green Bluff in spite of everything.
Trembling in every limb, he succeeded in getting
round--and then stopped, his face white with
horror: on the opposite side of the bay a long
stretch of cliff rose sheer up from the deep blue
water at its base.  And then a sudden blackness
shut out the world, and he sank down upon the
shingle in despair.





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.. _`CAPTAIN SAM HAWKINS AND THE LADY ALICIA`:

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   CHAPTER IV


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   CAPTAIN SAM HAWKINS AND THE LADY ALICIA

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Thirty miles to the eastward of Breaksea
Spit, which lies off Sandy Cape, on the
coast of Queensland, a little tubby and
exceedingly disreputable-looking brig of about
two hundred tons burden was floundering and
splashing along before a fresh southerly breeze,
and a short and jumpy head swell.  By the noise
she made when her bluff old bows plunged into a
sea and brought her up shaking, and groaning, and
rolling as she rose to it and tumbled recklessly
down the other side, one would have thought that
the Lady Alicia was a two thousand ton ship, close
hauled under a press of canvas, and thrashing her
way through the water at thirteen or fourteen
knots.  Sometimes, when she was a bit slow in
rising, a thumping smack on her square
old-fashioned stern would admonish her to get up and
be doing, and with a protesting creak and grind
from every timber in her sea-worn old frame, blending
into what sounded like a heart-broken sigh, she
would make another effort, and drop down into the
trough again with a mighty splash of foam shooting
out from her on every side, and a rattling of
blocks, and flapping and slapping of her ancient,
threadbare, and wondrously-patched canvas.

Aft, on the short, stumpy poop, a short stumpy
man with a fiery-red face, keen blue eyes, and
snow-white hair, was standing beside the helmsman,
smoking, and watching the antics of the venerable
craft--of which he was master and owner--with
unconcealed pride.  His age was about the same
as the brig, a little over fifty years; and this was
not the only point in which they resembled each
other, for their appearance and characteristics bore
a marked similarity in many respects.

In the first place, the Lady Alicia was a noisy,
blustering old wave-puncher, especially when
smashing her cumbrous way through a head sea, as she
was doing at present.  But despite her age and
old-fashioned build, her hull was still as sound as
a bell; and Captain Samuel Hawkins was a noisy,
blustering old shell-back, especially when he met
with any opposition; and despite his age and
old-fashioned and fussy manner, his heart was not only
as sound as a bell, but full to overflowing with
every good and humane feeling, for all his forty
years of life at sea.

Secondly, the Lady Alicia had antiquated single
'rolling' topsails (which were the skipper's especial
pride, although they invariably jammed at critical
moments during a heavy squall, and refused to
lower, with all hands and the cook straining
frantically with distended eyeballs at the
down-hauls), and Captain Hawkins wore antiquated
nether garments with a seamless bunt, and which
fastened with large horn buttons at his port and
starboard hips, and this part of his attire was the
object of as much secret contempt with his crew as
were the hated rolling topsails, though the old man
was a firm believer in both.

Thirdly, the Lady Alicia carried stun sails (which
was another source of pride to her master, and
objects of bitter hatred to the mate, as useless and
troublesome fallals); and Captain Hawkins wore a
stove-pipe hat when on shore in Sydney, the
which was much resented by many of his nautical
cronies and acquaintances, who thought that he put
on too many airs for the skipper of the Lazy Alice,
as they derisively called the old brig.  But no one
of them would have dared to have said anything
either about the brig's stunsails or sailing qualities,
or her master's shore-going top-hat in his hearing;
for the old man was mighty handy with his fists,
and a disrespectful allusion to his own rig, or to
that of his ship, would entail a quick challenge, and
an almost certain black eye to the offender.

And, fourthly, the brig had been built for the
Honourable East India Company, and in the
Honourable East India Company's service old
Samuel, then 'young Sam,' had served his
apprenticeship to the sea; and, in fact, as he
stood there on his own poop-deck, the most
unnautical observer could not but think that he had
been born for the Lady Alicia, and that the Lady
Alicia had, so to speak, been built to match the
personal appearance of her present commander,
despite her previous thirty years of buffeting about,
from the Persian Gulf to Macassar, under other
skippers.

Presently, turning to the helmsman, a huge,
brawny-limbed Maori half-caste, who had to stoop
to handle the spokes of the quivering and jumping
wheel, the master took his pipe from his mouth,
knocked the ashes out upon the rail, and said--

'Well, William Henry, we're doing all right, hey?'

The Maori, deeply intent upon his steering, as
his keen dark eye watched the lumping seas ahead,
nodded, but said nothing, for he was a man of few
words--except upon certain occasions, which shall
be alluded to hereafter.  Seated on the main hatch,
the second mate and some of the crew were
employed in sewing sails; for although the brig was
jumping about so freely, and every now and then
sending sheets of foam and spray flying away from
her bows, the decks were as dry as a bone.
Further for'ard the black cook was seated on an
upturned mess-tub outside his galley door, peeling
potatoes into a bucket by his side, and at intervals
thrusting his great splay foot into the nose of
Julia, the ship's pig, which, not satisfied with the
peelings he threw her, kept trying to make a rush
past through the narrow gangway, and get at the
contents of the bucket.

Just before seven bells, the mate, who did such
navigating work as was required, put his head up
out of the companion, sextant in hand, and then
laying the instrument down on the skylight, turned
to the skipper.

'He says he feels bully this morning, and wants
to come on deck.'

The little squat skipper nodded, hurried below,
and in a few minutes reappeared with a bundle
of rugs and rather dirty pillows, which he at once
proceeded to arrange between the up-ended flaps
of the skylight, then he hailed the black gentleman
potato-peeler.

'Steward' (the term cook was never used by the
worthy old captain), 'come aft here and lend a hand.'

'Ay, ay, sah,' replied the negro, in his rich,
'fruity' voice, 'I'se comin', sah;' and with a final
and staggering kick with the ball of his foot on
Julia's fat side, he put the bucket inside the galley,
slid the door to, and followed the captain below,
whilst the mate, a young, dark-faced, and
grave-looking man, swiftly passed his sun-tanned hand
over the couch made by the skipper, to see that
there were no inequalities or discomforting lumps
in the thick layer of rugs.

And then, curly wool and sooty black face first,
and white head and red face beneath, up comes
Tom Wallis, borne between them into life and
sunshine again; but not the same Tom as he was
ten days before--only an apology for him--with
a shaven head, and an old, wan, and shrunken
face, with black circles under the eyes, a bandaged
foot, and left hand in a sling.

'Gently, there now, steward, gently does it.
Hallo! youngster, you're laughing, are you?  Right
glad am I to see it, my lad.  Steady now, steward,
lower him away easy....  There! how's that, son?'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tom, as the two men
laid him down upon the rugs.  'Oh, how lovely
it is to see the sky again!  Where are we now, sir?'

.. _`'How's that, my Son?'`:

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   :alt: 'THANK YOU, SIR,' SAID TOM, AS THE TWO MEN LAID HIM DOWN.

   'THANK YOU, SIR,' SAID TOM, AS THE TWO MEN LAID HIM DOWN.

'Thirty mile or thereabout nor'-east o' Sandy
Cape.  How's the foot?'

'Much better, sir, thank you; but I think I might
have the things off my hand now.  I can move
all my fingers quite easily.'

Hawkins turned to the mate.  'What do you
think, Mr. Collier?'

The grave-faced young mate nodded, sat down
beside the lad on the edge of the skylight, and
taking Tom's hand out of the sling, began to
unwind the bandages from his fingers, which he
examined critically, and, pressing them carefully,
asked the lad if he felt much pain.

'No, sir,' said Tom, lying manfully, as he looked
into the officer's eyes--so calm, patient, and quiet,
like those of his own father--'not much.'

'Then we'll have these off,' said Collier, as with
a kindly smile he unfastened the bandages; 'but
you won't be able to use that foot for another
week or two.'

'I don't know how I managed to cut it,' said
Tom, as he lay back with a sigh of relief, and
watched the brig's royalmasts make a sweeping arc
through the air as she rolled from side to side.
'I put on my boots when I came to the rocks
beyond Misty Head.'

Captain Hawkins laughed.  'You was *non compos
mentis* of the first class and stark naked in a
state of noodity, and when we saw you spread-eagled
as it were on the beach, and put ashore
to see whether you were dead or alive we couldn't
see a stitch of clothing anywhere, could we, William
Henry?'

The Maori helmsman nodded his head affirmatively,
and then, as eight bells were struck, and he
was relieved at the wheel, he came and stood beside
the master and mate, and a pleased expression
came into his somewhat set and heavy features
when Tom put out his hand to him.

'It was you who saw me first, and saved my
life, wasn't it?' he said; and then with boyish
awkwardness--'I am very much obliged to you,
Mr. William Henry.'

The big half-caste took Tom's hand in his own
for a moment, and shuffling his bare feet, muttered
in an apologetic tone that 'it didn't matter much,'
as he 'couldn't help a-seeing' him lying on the
beach.  Then he stood for'ard.

'Do you know who *he* is, young fellow?' said the
skipper, impressively, to Tom, as soon as the big
man was out of hearing.

Tom shook his head.

'That's Bill Chester, William Henry Chester is
his full name he's the feller that won the
heavy-weight championship in Sydney two years ago
didn't you never hear of him?'

Tom again shook his head.

'Well you know him now and it'll be something
for you to look back on when you comes
to my age to say you've shook hands with a man
like *him*.  Why he's a man as could be ridin' in
his own carriage and a hobnobbin' with dukes
and duchesses in London if he'd a mind to; but
no he ain't one of that sort a more modester man
*I* never saw in my life.  Why he stood his trial
for killin' a water policeman once and only got
twelve months for it the evidence showin' he only
acted in self-defence being set upon by six of
them Sydney water police every one of 'em being
a bad lot and dangerous characters as I know;
and the judge saying that he only stiffened the
other man under serious provocation and a lenient
sentence would meet the requirements of the case;
seventeen pound ten me and some other men
give the widow who said that she wished it had
happened long before and saved her misery he
being a man who when he wasn't ill-usin' sailor
men was a-bootin' and beltin' his wife eleven
years married to him although he was in the
Government service I'll tell you the whole yarn
some day and....  Now then where are you
steerin' to?  I don't want you a cockin' your ears
to hear what I'm sayin'.  Mind your steerin'
you swab an' no eaves-droppin' or you'll get a lift
under your donkey's lug.'

The man who had relieved 'William Henry'--a
little, placid-faced old creature, who had sailed
with Hawkins ever since that irascible person had
bought the Lady Alicia when she was lying in
Port Phillip, deserted by her crew, twenty years
before, said, 'Ay, ay, sir,' and glued his eyes to
the compass--although he had no more intention
of listening to the skipper's remarks than he had
of leading a mutiny and turning the brig into a
pirate.  He had been threatened with fearful
physical damage so often during his score of
years' service with the boisterous old captain, that
had it been actually administered he would have
died in a fit of astonishment, for 'old Sam' had
never been known to strike one of his hands in
his life, although he was by no means averse, as
mentioned above, to displaying his pugilistic
qualifications on shore, if any one had the temerity
to make derogatory remarks about his wonderful
old brig.

Swelling with importance, the old man, after
glaring at the man at the wheel for a moment or
two, turned to the mate--

'Mr. Collier this young person being an infant
in the eyes of the law and this ship being on
Government service and to-day being his
convalescency as it were I shall require you to verify
any or whatsoever statements as shall appear to
be written in the log of this ship.  I know my
duty sir and I hereby notify you that I rely on
you to assist and expiate me in every manner;'
and the fussy little man waddled down the
companion way with a kindly nod at Tom.

Tom began to laugh.  'He talks something
like old Foster, Mr. Collier--the old man I was
telling you about.'

The mate smiled.  'He's a good old fellow, my
lad, good, and honest, and true; and now that he
is out of hearing, I may tell you that, ever since
you were brought on board he has studied your
comfort, and has never ceased talking about you.
Three days ago, when you were able to talk, and
tell us how you came to be where we found you,
he was so distressed that he told me that he was
more than half inclined to turn the brig round and
head for Sydney, so that you might be enabled
from there to return to your father.'

Tom's eyes filled at once.  'My poor father!
He will never expect to see me again;' and then,
as his thoughts turned to home and all that was
dear to him, he placed his hands over his face,
and his tears flowed freely.

The officer laid his hand on his shoulder.  'Try
and think of the joy that will be his when he sees
you again, Tom.  And, above all, my dear boy,
try and think of the mercy of Him who has spared
you.  Try and think of Him and His goodness and----'

He rose to his feet, and strode to and fro on
the poop, his dark, handsome features aglow with
excitement.  Then he stopped, and called out
sharply to a couple of hands to loose the fore and
main royals, for the wind was now lessening and
the sea going down.

Ten minutes later he was again at Tom's side,
his face as calm and quiet as when the lad had
first seen it bending over him three days before,
when he awoke to consciousness.

'I promised you I would tell you the whole
yarn of your rescue.  There is not much to tell.
We were hugging the land closely that day, so
as to get out of the southerly current, which at
this time of the year is very strong.  We saw the
fire the previous night, when we were about thirty
miles off the land, and abreast of Port Kooringa.
Then the wind set in from the north-east with
heavy rain-squalls, so the skipper, who knows
every inch of the coast, and could work his way
along it blindfolded, decided to keep in under the
land, and escape from the current; for the Lady
Alicia'--and here his eyes lit up--'is not renowned
for beating to windward, though you must never
mention such a heresy to Captain Hawkins.  He
would never forgive you.  About four o'clock in
the afternoon we went about, and fetched in two
miles to the northward of Misty Head; and Maori
Bill, the man who was here just now, and whom
the skipper calls "William Henry," cried out, just
as we were in stays again, that he could see a
man lying on the beach.  The captain brought his
glasses to bear on you, and although you appeared
to be dead, he sent a boat ashore.  There was a
bit of a surf running on the beach, but Harry
took the boat in safely, and then jumped out, and
ran up to where you were lying.  He picked you
up, and carried you down to the boat--you were
as naked as when you first came into the world,
Tom,--and then brought you, just hovering between
life and death, aboard.  Your left foot was badly
cut, left hand swollen and helpless, and, worse than
all, you had a terrible cut on the back of your
head.  And here you are now, Tom, safe, and
although not sound, you will be so in a few days.'

Tom tried to smile, but the old house at Port
Kooringa, and the sad face of his heart-broken
father, came before his eyes, and again his tears
flowed, as he thought of the anguish of those he
loved.

'Oh, Mr. Collier, that day was the happiest day
of my life!  When I was riding along the beach,
I felt as if I was moving in the air, and the
sound of the surf and the cry of the sea-birds
... and the wavy, round bubbles that rose and floated
before me in the sunshine over the sand ... and
I was so glad to think that I could tell father and
Jack about Foster and I going out in the boat to
the shipwrecked sailors, and bringing them ashore.
And I'm so sorry for being so foolish as to light
a fire on Misty Head, when the country was so
dry.  Poor father, I wish I could tell him so
now!  Of course he will think I am dead;' and,
in spite of himself, his eyes filled again, as he
thought of his father's misery and worn and
haggard face.

'Don't fret, my boy.  It cannot be helped.
And any day we may speak a ship bound to
Sydney or Melbourne, in which case you will
soon be back home; anyhow, the Lady Alicia
should be in Sydney Harbour in four months from now.'

Then the mate gave Tom some particulars about
the nature of the voyage.  The brig was really,
as the captain had said, on Government service,
having been chartered by the New South Wales
authorities to convey a boat to Wreck Reef--a
dangerous shoal about two hundred miles
north-east of Sandy Cape, and the scene of many
disastrous wrecks.  The boat, with an ample supply
of provisions and water, charts and nautical
instruments, and indeed every necessary for the relief
of distressed seamen, was to be placed under a
shed on an islet on the reef, where it would be
safe and easily visible.  During the past four or
five years, so the mate said, several fine ships had
run ashore, and the last disaster had resulted in
terrible privations to an entire ship's company,
who for many months had been compelled to
remain there, owing to all the boats having been
destroyed when the vessel crashed upon one of the
vast network of reefs which extend east and west
for a distance of twenty miles.

From Wreck Reef the brig was to proceed to
Noumea, in New Caledonia, where she had to
discharge about a hundred tons of coal destined for
the use of an English gunboat, engaged in
surveying work among the islands of the New Hebrides
group.

'So you see, Tom,' added Mr. Collier, 'there's
every probability of your seeing something of
the South Sea Islands--if New Caledonia may
be called one.  We were there last year on the
same errand, carrying coal for the naval people--in
fact, old Sam always gets a charter of this sort;
he is well known to them all, and although he is
not much of a navigator, a better sailor man never
trod a deck; and, in spite of the brig being a
slow sailer, she is, like her master, always to be
depended upon.  I have been with him now for
more than three years, and during that time we
have had several Government charters, of which
the old man is very proud of speaking.  He has
many little vanities, which you must take care not
to offend: one is that the brig is a remarkably
fast sailer; another is his harmless habit of
exaggerating her performances to any stranger whom
he may meet; another is that those four old
useless six-pound carronades which lumber up the
main deck are likely to be of immense service to
the colony of New South Wales, should the Russians
ever make a descent on Sydney Harbour.  They
were in the brig when he bought her--she once
carried ten such popguns--when she was employed
in the China Seas, and I believe had occasion to
use them more than once.  However, if you want
to please him, just ask him one day to let the
crew go to quarters for gun-practice.  The magazine
is in the lazarette--you'll see the hatch just under
the cabin table,--and every two weeks he has what
he calls an inspection: there's enough round shot
down there to load a ten-ton cutter.  There really
was a Russian scare in Sydney some years ago--long
before I joined the brig, before you were
born, in fact; and old Sam went mad with delight
when the Governor hired the Lady Alicia, to cruise
up and down the coast to watch for the hostile
fleet.  However, he'll tell you all about it some
day.  But about the most amusing of his
eccentricities is this--whenever we are entering port
he likes to do so in style, and nearly drives the
crew and myself crazy by rigging stunsail gear,
and crowding the old ship with unnecessary and
useless canvas; but he really believes that his
friends are eaten up with jealousy at the fine
appearance he imagines she presents.  But there,
I must leave you now.'

Presently the skipper's head appeared again.

'My boy me and Mr. Collier and the second
officer as is customary shortly after noon take
refreshment; will you take a glass of Madery
which I can recommend being a consistent invidel
myself for many years with liver.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Tom, as the kind old
fellow brought him a glass of very good Madeira
indeed, and watched him drink it.  Then the
skipper bustled below again, to take his mid-day
tot of brandy-and-water with his officers.





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.. _`THE CAPTAIN OF THE BANDOLIER`:

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   CHAPTER V


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   THE CAPTAIN OF THE BANDOLIER

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Nearly two long months had passed
since Tom had lit that fateful fire on
Misty Head, and Mr. Wallis, his hair
somewhat greyer, and his face more deeply lined,
was sitting with the captain of the Bandolier upon
the grassy side of the bluff overlooking the bar.
Both were smoking, and watching the figures of
Jack and the little girl, who were on the beach
below, Jack fishing, and the child wandering to
and fro, busied in picking up seaweed and shells,
and running up every few minutes to show them
to the lad.  Away to the northward, the headlands
showed grey and soft through the misty sea haze
which floated about the shore, and as Mr. Wallis
let his gaze rest upon them, he leant his face upon
his hand, and sighed heavily.

'Wallis,' said the seaman presently, and
speaking in a low voice, as he resumed the
desultory conversation they had begun when
they first sat down on the bluff to wait until
Jack and little Nita returned to them, 'I want
you to believe me when I say that there is not
an hour of my life in which I do not feel that but
for me this heavy blow would never have fallen
on you.'

'Do not say that, Casalle.  It was to be, and
you do wrong to reproach yourself for the calamity
with which it has pleased the Almighty to afflict
me, and for which you are in no way responsible.
And your sympathy has done much to help me.
Heavy as is the sorrow which has come upon us
both, we should yet reflect that we have no right
to cry out in bitterness of spirit: for even though
your wife was taken from you in that night of
horror with awful suddenness, your little one was
spared to comfort you; my boy was taken from
me, but his brother is left.  And as time goes on
we shall begin to understand, Casalle, and even
the dreadful manner of their deaths will in God's
own time cease to be such an ever-present and
heart-breaking reflection as it is to us now.'

The master of the Bandolier made no answer.
He had not that hope which to some men is a
source of such sublime strength, when all the
sweetness and joy and sunshine of life is snatched
suddenly away, and the whole world becomes dark
to the aching heart.  But although he made no
response to his companion's fervid speech, he
felt its truth, and envied him the possession of
such a deep-seated fount of calm, unquestioning faith.

During the two months that had elapsed since
he and his men had landed at Port Kooringa, a
warm feeling of friendship had grown up between
him and his host; and now that the time was
drawing near for them to part--for he was to
leave the quiet hospitable house under the bluff
on the following day--he had tried to express his
gratitude for the unceasing kindness and generosity
which he, his child, and his officers and men had
received at the hands of the owner of Kooringa Run.

Presently Wallis rose.  'Come, let us go down
to Jack and Nita.  They have forgotten our
existence, I believe; Jack is too busy pulling in
whiting and sea-bream to even turn his head to
see where we are, and Nita won't leave him, you
may be sure.'

Casalle laughed softly.  'Yes, they get on well
together, don't they?  I wonder how long it will
be before I see her again,' he added wistfully.

'Not very long, I hope,' said the squatter,
cheerfully, 'not long--for all our sakes.  And, although
I know what a wrench it will be for you to leave
her, I am sure you are doing wisely in giving her
to us until she is old enough to manage your
house in Samoa, when you give up the sea
altogether, and settle down a prosperous planter.  And
I do not think that you will be long absent from
her at a time.  I shall certainly expect to see you
again in less than two years.'

The captain shook his head.  'I lost all I had
in the world in the Bandolier, except her
insurance.  That will enable me to buy a small
schooner to begin trading again; but I shall have
to get long terms from the Sydney merchants for
my trade goods.  And I don't see how I am likely
to see Kooringa again in two years--I'll have to
make Samoa my headquarters for the next five, I fear.'

'My dear fellow,' said the squatter, 'you shall
do no such thing--I mean that I am determined
not to lose sight of you for five years.  Make
Samoa your headquarters if you will, but I might
as well tell you now what I want you to do for
me.  I want you to let me be your banker.  I am
not a very wealthy man, but I can well spare four
or five thousand pounds.  And I have written to
Sydney to have that sum placed to your credit in
the Bank of Australasia.  Look upon it, if you
have luck in your trading ventures, as a loan; if,
unfortunately, you should meet with further
misfortune, consider it as a gift, given freely and
with sincere pleasure by one friend to another.
With this sum you can get at least one of the
vessels you need, and have enough capital left to
buy all the trade goods you require, and pay for
them, instead of handicapping yourself by giving
bills to the Sydney merchants.  There is nothing
more harassing and deterrent to a man's energies,
than to know that his credit and reputation are
in the hands of people thousands of miles away.
Therefore, my dear Casalle, don't give a bill to
any one.  If you find that five thousand pounds
will not pull you through, my agent in Sydney will
come to your assistance....  There, there, don't
say another word.  'Twould be "a moighty poor
wurruld, indade," as Kate Gormon says, if we
can't help one another.  And then I don't want
you to touch the Bandolier's insurance money.
A thousand pounds is not much; leave it to
accumulate for little Nita.  Then again, as to
your crew's wages, which you were intending
to pay out of the insurance--that is all settled too.'

The seaman's eyes filled.  'Wallis, what can I
say?  How can I tell you what I feel?  I never
had a friend in my life till I met you.  My father,
who was a native of Funchal, was killed in a boat
accident when I was a boy of ten.  He was a
rough Portuguese whaler, and after his death my
mother was left in poverty, and died when I was
away at sea, on my first voyage.  My one brother,
who was seven years older than me, also went to
sea.  I have never seen him since, but heard that
long after he had passed as second mate, he
returned to our native island, only to find that our
mother was dead, and that I had gone.  Until
I met my wife, who was a native of the New
England States, I led the wildest, the most
dissolute----'

The master of Kooringa held up his hand.
'Never mind that, old man.  There are not
many--men such as you and I, wanderers on the face
of the earth--who can show a clean sheet.  Like
you, I was sent out into the world when a mere
boy; but I was less fortunate than you, for instead
of a life of honourable hardship, I was led to look
forward to--by my parents' influence--to one of
ease.  You, perhaps, were driven to dissipation
when on shore, by the rough life of a whaleship's
fo'c'sle.  I led a dissipated and worthless
existence, because I was cursed with ample funds, and
but few of my many associates in India, during
all the time I was in the Company's service, had
any other thought but of leading a short life and
a merry one, or else making as much money as
possible and returning to England to live upon it.
And like you, a good woman came to my rescue.
Now, my dear fellow, let us say no more on
this subject.  Come, let us see what Jack has
caught.'

Too overcome to find words to express his
gratitude for such unlooked-for generosity from a
man who, two months before, had been an utter
stranger, the captain could only wring his
companion's hand in silence.

In another day or two he would have to say
good-bye to little Nita and the master of
Kooringa; for the antiquated paddle-wheel coasting
steamer William the Fourth, which called at Port
Kooringa every three months, was then in
harbour loading with hides and timber for Sydney,
and he had taken passage by her.  Brooker, the
chief mate, and the whole of the crew, had
preceded him some weeks by a sailing vessel, and
were awaiting him in Sydney, for no one of them
but wanted to sail with him again--and indeed
the feeling that existed between captain and crew
was something more like comradeship than aught
else.

But here I am again, drifting away to leeward,
and never a word about the Bandolier herself, and
how she came to such mishap, and what happened
between the time of that unlucky fire and now--when
the two men and Nita and Jack are walking
slowly home to spend their last night together in
the old house which faced the restless bar.

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   \*      \*      \*      \*      \*

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When the missing boat had sailed past Misty
Head at dawn on the day following the fire,
Mr. Wallis had told the officer that they should reach
the boat-harbour just below his house in another
three or four hours; but misfortune overtook
them.  Twice was the boat, despite the officer's
careful handling of her, filled with lumping seas
and swamped, and in this dangerous situation
furious rain-squalls burst upon them, and lasted
almost without cessation for two hours.  So
darkness had set in ere they landed at the little
boat-harbour, drenched and exhausted, and the
first intimation Captain Casalle had of the safety
of the missing men was by being awakened out
of a deep slumber by his American mate, who
was standing at his bedside wringing his hands.
He was soon followed by Mr. Wallis, who
congratulated the master of the Bandolier most
warmly upon his escape, and then added a few
words of sympathy for the loss of his wife--the
mate already having given him some particulars of
the disaster to the ship and the manner of the
poor lady's death.

The moment he had entered the house, old
Foster had told him of Tom's departure the
previous day, and expressed some alarm when he
found that his father had not seen him, and
Mr. Wallis himself could not repress a feeling of
anxiety.  This he tried to put away, by thinking
that the lad would be sure to turn up early on.
the following morning.  Many things, he knew,
might have happened to delay Tom's return--primarily
the fire, which might have caused him
to make a wide detour, or else ride on hard to
Kooringa Cape to avoid it; or perhaps--and this
he thought very probable--the boy had had to
take to the beach and wait till the fire burnt out
before going on to the Cape.  Nothing, however,
could be done until morning, and in the morning
they would be sure to see Tom safely back, none
the worse for his adventure.  He was a brave lad,
and the bush and its ways were a second nature
to him.

Late that night, as the father and son were
talking over the exciting incidents of the previous
day, the captain of the Bandolier tapped at the
dining-room door and then entered, followed by
his mate.  In a moment Mr. Wallis was on his
feet and making his visitors comfortable, whilst
big red-haired Kate brought in liquor, cigars, and
pipes.  Then until long past midnight the three
talked, and solemn-faced Jack listened with
devouring interest to the full tale of the wreck of the
Bandolier.

She was a barque of nearly four hundred tons,
and Casalle's own vessel.  He, from the time he
was a lad of fifteen till he was nearly forty years
of age, had sailed in American whaleships.  From
'green hand' he had risen step by step from
boat-steerer to junior officer, then to first mate, and
finally to master; and then, having saved enough
money to embark on a venture of his own, and
believing that a fortune awaited him in the South
Seas as a trader, he had bought the Bandolier, and
sailed her out to Samoa.  Here he purchased land
from the natives for a trading station, and refitted
the barque for her future voyages among the island
groups.  His wife, a young American girl, whom he
had married in New London, Connecticut, six
years before, had accompanied him with their little
daughter; and whilst he was away in the Bandolier
cruising through the New Hebrides and Solomon
Islands, she remained in charge of the trading
station.  From the very first he had been fortunate,
and at the end of two years he decided to take a
cargo of coco-nut oil and other island produce to
Sydney, sell it there, instead of disposing of it in
Samoa, and invest the proceeds in a fresh supply
of goods, which would practically give him a
monopoly of the island trade from Samoa to the
far-away Marshall Islands.  But, as he expected
to remain in Sydney for some months whilst the
Bandolier underwent extensive repairs, he
determined that his wife and child should accompany
him.  Then, as he thought it very likely he would
be able to pick up for a low price in Sydney a
small schooner of about a hundred tons, which he
intended to use as a tender to the barque, he
shipped ten extra native sailors--Tahitians, Savage
Islanders, and Rotumahans--just the sort of men
he wanted for the work in which the new vessel
would be engaged.

'We made a splendid run from Samoa till we
were, as I thought, fifty or sixty miles north of
Lord Howe's Island,' Casalle went on to say.
'Then the weather became squally and generally
dirty, and at four o'clock on the afternoon of the
following day I decided to heave-to for the night,
not wishing to attempt to run by the island in the
dark, my chronometer being unreliable.  Just before
sunset a big, full-rigged American timber ship, with
her decks piled high with lumber, came racing up
astern.  Just as she was abreast of the Bandolier,
the squall before which she and my own vessel
had been running died away, and as we were
within easy hailing distance I spoke her, and asked
the captain for his approximate position.  Much
to my satisfaction, it agreed with mine within a
mile or two, so I kept on, expecting to pass Lord
Howe's Island about midnight.  The American
ship, which was keeping the same course, soon
drew away from us when the next squall came,
for the Bandolier was under short canvas.

'About ten o'clock we were running before what
appeared to be a steady breeze, although the sky
was dull and starless.  My wife and I were having
a cup of coffee in the cabin, and little Nita was
fast asleep, when, without a word of warning, the
ship struck heavily.  The moment I got on deck
I saw that there was no hope of saving the ship,
for her bows were jammed into a cleft of a reef,
and she was tearing her bottom to pieces aft, for
every sea lifted her, and she soon began to pound
violently upon the rocks.  The native crew worked
well--we carried but two white seamen exclusive
of my first and second mates--and we got two of
the boats away safely, under the chief mate and
boatswain, each one with a fair amount of
provisions and water.  Most unfortunately, my poor
wife refused to leave the ship in either of these
boats, declaring she would not leave till I did, in
the third and last boat; she, however, permitted
Mr. Brooker here--my chief mate--to take the
little girl with him.  Then the child's nurse--a
young Samoan native girl--satisfied that her charge
was in safety, begged to remain with her mistress.
Poor Solepa, her affection cost her her life.  Five
minutes after we struck, the ship began to fill very
rapidly, and I to fear that, before we could get
clear of her in the third boat, she would swing
round, slip off into deep water, and founder, for,
although she was still bumping aft with every sea,
she had worked free for'ard.

'Despite the darkness, however, we managed to
get the boat ready for lowering, the second mate
and two native sailors jumping into her, so as to
cast her clear of the falls, and bring her astern the
moment she touched the water.  This they
succeeded in doing, and at that moment, and whilst
the steward, a sailor, and myself, were standing by
ready to lower my wife and the native girl into
the boat, the ship gave a sudden heavy roll to
starboard and crashed over on her bilge.  Then a
black wall of sea towered high over the buried rail,
and fell upon us.  What happened immediately after
will never be known, for I was knocked almost
senseless by the sea, which tore my wife from
my arms, and then swept us all over the side
together.

.. _`'A Black Wall of Sea towered high over the Rail'`:

.. figure:: images/img-085.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: THE SHIP GAVE A SUDDEN ROLL AND CRASHED OVER HER BILGE.

   THE SHIP GAVE A SUDDEN ROLL AND CRASHED OVER HER BILGE.

'When I came to, many hours later, I was lying
in the mate's boat, and learnt from him that not
only had my wife and those who stood with me
on deck perished, but my young second mate and
his two hands as well; for the same sea which
carried us overboard, doubtless capsized the boat,
then hanging on under the counter on the port
side, and drowned them all.  When morning broke
we were about five miles off the southern end of
Middleton Reef.  A wild hope that some of them
might yet be alive impelled me to head back for
the reef itself, although I knew it was generally
covered at high water.  With the two boats we
pulled right round it--nothing, nothing, Wallis,
but the leap and roar of the thundering surf upon
the coral barrier.  As for the old Bandolier, she
had slipped off into deep water and disappeared.

'My own escape from death was marvellous.
The waiting boats had, in the darkness, been
actually carried over the reef through the surf into
smooth water beyond; then they pulled out through
a narrow passage on the lee side, and returned to
the scene of the wreck to look for the third boat.
Suddenly the mate's boat fouled the wreckage of
the deckhouse, mixed up with some of the for'ard
spars and canvas, and in getting clear of it I was
discovered lying dead, as was thought, on the side
of the house.  Whether I was washed there, or
managed to swim there, I cannot tell.  One of
the South Sea Islanders jumped overboard, got
me clear, and swam with me to the boat.  Then
when daylight came ... as I have said ... we
went back to the reef.'

He ceased, for he could speak no longer, and
Brooker, the rough American mate, with a soft,
kindly light in his usually stern eyes, took up the tale.

'And then, yew see, Mr. Wallis, we had nothing
to do but to keep away for Australia.  So I went
into the small boat, and for about ten days we
kept together; then one night it came on to blow
mighty hard from the south'ard, and when
daylight came the captain's boat was not in sight,
and I hed nothin' else to do but keep right on.
And now here we are all together again, and thet
little Nita sleepin' as sound and happy as if there
was no sich things as misery and death in the
world.'  Then he added savagely, 'I should just
like to come across that galoot of a skipper who
was the cause of it all.  Why, mister, instead of
our being where we thought we were, we were
just running dead in for Middleton Reef.  I guess
he had a narrow shave himself, but, anyway, I
hope to see the feller piled up somewhere before
I quit sea-goin'.'

Then the two men rose and retired to their
rooms, leaving the squatter and his son to pace to
and fro on the verandah and watch for daylight
and Tom.

And then when daylight came, and the sea mist
lifted from the long, long line of curving beach, and
Foster, glass in hand, joined his master to scan the
yellow sand, and they saw naught to break its
outlines but the whitening bones of a great fin-back
whale, cast ashore a year before, the master of
Kooringa Run turned to the old sailor with trouble
in his eyes.

'Foster, I fear something has gone wrong with
the lad.  Even if he had lost his horse, he should
have turned up by now.  He is too smart a boy
to have let the fire head him off into the ranges.
And yet where else can he be?  Anyway, there
is no time to lose.  Jack, you and Wellington
must saddle up at once, cross the river high up,
and work down from the range till you come to
the edge of the burnt country, then follow that
right along to Kooringa Cape.  I'll take Combo
and Fly, and go along the beach between the bar
and Misty Head.  Most likely I'll meet him
footing it home.  But hurry, lad, hurry.'

Before noon that day Jack and Wellington were
searching the country at the foot of the ranges,
and Mr. Wallis and his party were examining the
beaches beyond Misty Cape.

But never a trace of Tom could be found, though
his horse came home next day.  The heavy
rain-squalls had obliterated any tracks made on the
beach itself: and so when, after a week's steady
search, in which all the surrounding settlers joined
Tom's shirt and trousers were found lying buried
in the sand, by the action of the sea, the
heart-broken father bent his head in silence, and rode
slowly home.

And that night, as he and Jack sat with hands
clasped together, looking out upon the wide
expanse of the starlit ocean, and thinking of the face
they would never see, and the voice they would
never hear again, they heard poor Kate Gorman,
who had just laid her little charge to sleep, step
out into the darkened garden, and, crouching on
the ground, wail out the sorrow her faithful heart
could no longer suppress.

Oh, Tom, Tom! the babby that was your
mother's own darlin' an' mine, an' mine, an' mine!'

Old Foster came softly over to her.  'Hush,
Kate, hush!  The master will hear you; don't
make it harder for him than it is.'





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.. _`TOM MEETS SOME STRANGERS ON WRECK REEF`:

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   CHAPTER VI


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   TOM MEETS SOME STRANGERS ON WRECK REEF

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When the Lady Alicia, after bruising and
pounding her noisy way over the sea for
ten days, made Wreck Reef, and dropped
anchor under the lee of the one little islet enclosed
within the wide sweep of many lines of leaping
surf, the ship's company were astonished to find
the place occupied--a boat was drawn high up on
the beach, and five ragged fellows were standing
on the sand awaiting the landing of the people
from the brig.  As soon as Captain Hawkins set
foot ashore, one of them, who appeared to be the
leader, held out his hand, and in good English
said he was glad to see him.  He and his comrades,
he said, were the only survivors of an Italian barque,
the Generale Cialdini, which had run ashore on the
coast of New Guinea, and after great hardships
they had reached Wreck Reef some days before,
and were now resting, on their way to the
mainland of Australia.

Old Sam eyed him critically for a moment or
two, then said quietly--

'You want water and provisions, I suppose?'

The man nodded an eager assent; and indeed
he and those with him presented a wretched
appearance, for their faces and bodies showed
traces of severe hardship.

'Very well,' said Hawkins, 'I'll give you both if
you'll come alongside.  My boat's crew will lend
you a hand to get your boat into the water
again.'  Then he drew the man aside a little, and added,
'And look here mister don't you spin me any more
cuffers about that Italian barque and New Guinea.
I know where you come from right well and as
my ship is on Government service I ought to collar
the lot of you and hand you over to the Sydney
police but I don't want to be bothered with you
and there's an end of it and what is more, I'll do
what I can to help you'--here he grinned
humorously--'I'll even give you a passage back to New
Caledonia if you like.  I am bound to Noumea.'

The stranger started back, his leathern-hued
visage paled, and such a despairing look came into
his wild eyes, that old Sam was sorry for his jest.

'There don't get scared I mean you no harm;
but at the same time, for reasons of my own I
don't want your company here.  Have you any
idea of what part of the coast of Australia you're
going to?'

A sigh of relief broke from the man, then he
answered in perfect English--

'I will not try to deceive you.  We escaped from
Noumea thirty-eight days ago, and reached this
place a week since.  I do not know what part of
the coast to steer for.  A year ago a party of ten
prisoners escaped, and reached some place in
Queensland safely; none of them were ever brought
back to Noumea.  And we are prepared for death--better
to die of thirst on the ocean than live in
such agony and despair.'

The old man nodded, then mused.  'Look here
food and water I would give you in any case but
I'll tell you why I am so disposed to assist you.
When I was coming up the coast I picked up a
boy lying on the beach he was not able to tell me
who he was or where he came from for two weeks
and then it was too late for me to land him at any
settlement.  Now we want to send a letter to his
father.  Will you promise me to do your best to
try and get that letter forwarded?  I'm not playing
any game on you you can see the boy and read
the letter if you like when you come off to the ship.'

'I swear to you that I will act honestly,'
answered the convict, who was trembling with
excitement, 'I shall do my best.  And now I, too,
will be open.  When I and my comrades saw
your vessel early this morning, we planned to
attempt to capture her if she anchored here, and
had not too many men on board.  We thought
she might be only a small schooner, with not more
than five or six men.'

'Thank you kindly mister.  You've got the
mug of a born pirate I must say.  However I
bear you no ill-will and I'll trust you with that
letter.  If you don't send it on you'll never have
a day's luck in your life and be the two ends and
bight of a lyin' swab into the bargain.  Have you
got a compass?  No!  Why didn't you steal one
when you pirated the boat?  Might as well be
hung for a sheep as for a lamb, sonny.  Now
there's your boat ready; follow me off to the ship
but don't come aboard and I'll see that
everything you want is passed down to you letter
included and I'll give you a boat compass as
well.  All you've got to do is to steer due west
till you sight the Great Barrier Reef which you
ought to do to-morrow night; then run the reef
down southerly till you come to the first opening--you
will find plenty of boat passages--then once
you are inside steer west again for Cape Manifold
which you'll see thirty or forty miles away.  Then
follow the coast southerly again till you come to
the settlement in Keppel Bay.  If you don't like
landing there you can go on to Port Curtis--there's
a lot o' people there but I don't think they
will trouble to ask you many questions.  A new
gold field has been discovered a little distance
back from there.  Like as not you'll find half a
dozen vessels lying there without crews so if you
don't care to go on to the gold fields you'll find
you'll have no trouble in getting a ship to take
you away.  But mind don't forget about the letter.'

The convict's eyes glistened with pleasure, and
his face worked.  'I repeat that I will be true to
the trust you are placing in me--I swear that
this letter shall reach the person for whom it is
intended.  I am an escaped convict, and a few
hours ago I was ready to turn pirate rather than
be taken back to New Caledonia.  Why I am
what I am, I cannot now tell you, but I am not a
criminal, that I swear to you--only a despairing
and desperate man on the verge of madness,
through unmerited suffering and wrong.'

He spoke these last words with such a passion
and emphasis, that old Sam was impressed.

'Well there's many a wrong done.  But you
ain't a Frenchman are you?'

'No, I am an American, and a seaman.  But
five years in a chain gang have made me look as
I look now....  Now, sir, I am ready to follow
you.  But before you go, will you let me take
your hand?  It will be something for me to
remember.  Come, sir, do not refuse me.'

The old seaman held out his hand.  'There you
are mister; if that will do you any good there
it is.'

'It will, it *has*, sir.  I shall never see you again,
but I shall never forget you.  And some day it
may be that you may hear the name of Henry
Casalle spoken--Henry Casalle, sentenced to
transportation for life for mutiny, and for the murder
of the captain of the ship Amiral Jurien de la
Graviere; and as God is my witness, sir, I am an
innocent and unjustly condemned man.'

Hawkins looked at him keenly.  'If you are
lyin' to me, you ought to be struck dead in your
tracks; but I don't believe you are.  Now I'll get
aboard, and get the boy to write that letter.'

In ten minutes the energetic little man was on
board the brig again, and giving Mr. Collier orders
to get some provisions and water ready.  Then he
beckoned to Tom to come below.

'Tom my son you've got a longish head for a
person of your age being an infant in the eyes of
the law.  Now cock your ears and listen.  Those
fellers who are comin' off in that boat are escaped
convicts from New Caledonia and I am giving them
assistance to get to the mainland.  The leader of
'em seems to be honest enough--or else he's a
flamin' out-an'-out liar--and he's promised to see
that your father gets a letter if you give him one.
Now don't start askin' questions I believe the feller
means to act all square and shipshape an' there's
every chance of your father getting the letter in
another month or two.  I'm doing a disrespectful
thing to the Government just on your account by
aidin' and abettin'--no more an' no less under any
circumstances.  But I'll chance it anyway.  So
just you write.'

So Tom, beaming with joy at the opportunity,
set to work, with the skipper standing over him
and dictating:--

.. vspace:: 2

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   \ \ \ 'Brig Lady Alicia: Wreck Reef,
   'Lat. 22° 10' 25" S., Long. 155° 30' E.

.. vspace:: 1

'MY DEAR FATHER,

'I was rescued by Captain Samuel Hawkins,
of the brig Lady Alicia, bound to the above and
New Caledonia, and wish to state I have received
every comfort, she being on Government service and
he desiring to present his respects to you in every
possible manner whatsoever, and to inform you that
for reasons not herein specified this letter may not
reach you owing to extraneous and futile
circumstances.  The master of the said brig will use all
and every promiscuous endeavour to forward me
(the said Thomas Wallis) to Australia by Her
Majesty's ship Virago from Noumea, should she as
aforesaid be returning to Sydney previous to the
aforesaid brig Lady Alicia, also to inform you that
clothing and all such supernumaries shall be duly
attended to on arrival at Noumea, where Captain
Samuel Hawkins is duly respected.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: left medium white-space-pre-line

   'Your affectionate Son,
      'THOMAS WALLIS.'

.. vspace:: 2

'That'll do, Tom, that'll do.  Put it in an
envelope and address it to your father, but don't close
it, and be ready with it in ten minutes.  Steward
get a gallon of rum and five pounds of tobacco for
these shipwrecked and distressed foreign seamen
who are coming alongside and bring it on deck to
me and ask Mr. Collier for that boat compass in
his cabin.'

Poor Tom, too dazed and muddled to know
what he was doing, was just about to place his
letter in the envelope, when the mate came below
for the compass.  He showed what he had written
to Collier, who could not help laughing.

'Write another, Tom, as quick as you can, and
enclose it.  Otherwise I'm afraid your poor father
will think you have gone mad.  Hurry up, Tom.
Tell your father that you are well, and that you
are writing very hurriedly, as a boat is waiting.
And say that there is a chance of your being able
to get back to Australia by the Virago some time
within six months.  Perhaps it will be as well to
say nothing about these Frenchmen--your letter
might be opened, and might lead to the poor
wretches being captured by the Queensland police.'

Tom set to work with renewed vigour, and
contrived to convey to his father as nearly as possible
all that had befallen him since that direful day on
Misty Head.  Then he went up on deck with the
letter.

The boat with the five 'shipwrecked and distressed
foreign seamen' was lying alongside, and
old Sam was bustling up and down the poop,
puffing and grumbling about being delayed on
Government service 'by a lot of blessed foreigners.'

A large bag of biscuits, some tinned meats, and
other provisions were being passed down into the
boat, and Tom stared with astonishment when two
of the sun-baked creatures thrust their hands into
a sugar bag containing raw potatoes, and began to
eat them with the greatest zest imaginable.  Their
leader stood quietly aft, holding the steer oar,
looking straight before him, and giving
mono-syllabic orders to his crew regarding the stowage
of the water and provisions.  Once only he looked
up and caught sight of Tom, who was standing
just above him, letter in hand; he pulled off his
battered and blackened straw hat and bade him
good day in low tones, then turned again to watch
his comrades.  Brief as was the glance which Tom
had of the man's features, they seemed somehow
to be familiar to him--to remind him of just such
another type of face he had seen somewhere--the
jet-black hair and eyebrows, and the deep-set and
somewhat stern-looking eyes beneath.  Where had
he seen such a face before?  Then he remembered--the
captain of the Bandolier!  Yes, the
resemblance was most striking, although the man before
him was not so tall, and his beard and moustache
were short and stubbly.  Tom was too interested,
however, in the men generally to let his mind
dwell on the peculiarity of the resemblance, and
soon forgot all about it.

As soon as the convicts had stowed the boat
properly, the leader looked up at the master of
the brig, and said in French, 'I am quite ready, sir.'

'Well, here's the letter--it's not closed, you see.'

'I do not wish to read it, sir,' said the convict,
'therefore I beg you to close it.'

'Oh, all right, just as you please.  There, there
it is.  Now, is there anything else I can do for
you?  No?  Well, good-bye.  Let go that line there.'

The boat's painter was cast off, the steersman
flung her clear of the ship, the big lug sail was
hoisted, and then, following the leader's example,
the rest of the wild-looking creatures stood up,
waved their hats and caps in farewell, and called
out adieu.  In ten minutes the boat was slipping
out of the lagoon into the long sweep of the ocean
swell, and then she was hauled up a point or two,
and headed off westward.

'Well, that's satisfactory,' said old Sam to the
mate.  'It's a good job we didn't get here a week
sooner, and provide these coveys with a brand new
boat and gear worth three hundred pounds.  Now
let's get to work, Mr. Collier and get her over the
side.  Tom my bantam d'ye want to have a run
ashore?  There's any amount of crayfish out on
the reef, and the water is full of whopping blue
gropers.  Ask William Henry to give you his
fish-spear and you can prod it into one for our dinner.'

Highly delighted, Tom fled along the deck,
secured the spear from the Maori--who had taken
a great liking to the boy--and was at once put
ashore, where, his mind now free from anxiety to
a certain extent, he revelled in the joys of chasing
and spearing some splendid fish, for, as the captain
had said, the shoal water inside the reef was
literally swarming, not only with brilliant,
blue-scaled gropers, but half a dozen other kinds of fish.
In less than an hour he had secured enough to last
the ship's company for a couple of days, and then
burying them in the sand, to protect them from the
sun till the boat returned, he started off to
investigate some wreckage at the further end of the
island.  The history of these time-worn timbers
had been told him by old Sam--they were the
remains of the Porpoise and Cato, two Government
vessels, lost there August 3, 1815, and on one of
which the gallant and ill-fated Matthew Flinders
was a passenger on his way to England, a third
vessel, the transport Bridgewater, sailing away, and
leaving them to their fate.

In less than a week the shed was built, the
boat safely housed, and a flagstaff erected, and
then the little islet was left to its loneliness again,
and the never-ceasing roar of the surf upon the
network of reefs and shoals which surrounded it,
and once more the old brig's bluff bows were
dipping into the blue, as he braced up sharp for
her long beat against the trade wind to New Caledonia.

Thirteen days later she entered Noumea
Harbour through the Dumbea Pass, and there
awaiting her was her Majesty's paddle-wheel steamer
Virago, Commander Bingham.  As soon as possible
the brig hauled alongside the warship, and the
blue-jackets were at work on the coal, whilst old
Sam, swelling with importance, and using the
longest words he possibly could, was relating the
story of Tom's rescue to the captain and first
lieutenant; and presently Tom himself was sent
for, and, dressed in a best suit of the mate's
clothes, three sizes too large for him, he soon
made his appearance.  The captain and his officers
treated him with much kindness, made him stay
to lunch, and got him to tell his story over again.
Offers of clothing were made to him on all sides,
and a smile went all round when old Sam, who
was sweltering in a heavy frock-coat, and wearing
a brilliant green tie with a huge nugget of gold
as a scarf-pin, begged them 'on no account
whatsoever to trouble,' as he was going ashore with the
young gentleman to buy him all that was needed,
'in order that he may be in a manner of speaking
assimilated with the proper conditions of
irrefutable society without regard to expense on my
part, I being sure that his father will do the square
thing with me.'

After lunch the commander told the master of
the brig that the Virago was not returning to
Australia for another four or five months, when
another ship would be sent to relieve her in her
surveying work among the islands.  'I am sorry,
Mr. Hawkins, that this is so.  Nothing would give
me greater pleasure than to take your young
friend to Sydney, but, as you see, you will be
there long before we are.  I trust that the letter
he sent by those gentry you met at Wreck Reef
will be delivered safely.  Oh, and by the way,
you need not, of necessity, when reporting that
incident to the authorities here--er--er mention
that you--er imagined these men were escaped
prisoners.'

Old Sam shut one eye.  'I've my log to show
'em.  "Five men only survivors of Italian barque
Generale Cialdini wrecked on coast of Noo Guinea,
etsettery."'

The officer smiled.  'I see, I see, Mr. Hawkins.
But you have behaved very humanely--and wisely
as well, in not letting them on board to mix with
your crew; it might have led to some unpleasantness
here with the authorities.'

Early on the following morning the Cyclope,
an ancient-looking corvette, arrived from Sydney
with mails from France for the Governor and
garrison, and the commander of the Virago went
ashore to lunch with the captain at the Governor's
house.  When he returned, he sent for old Sam,
and said--

'Mr. Hawkins, I have something to tell you that
will, I think, interest you.  The Governor had for
three months been expecting the arrival of a large
vessel--a transport--with stores for the garrison
and convicts.  She was despatched from Saigon,
in Cochin China, nearly six months ago, and now
news has reached Sydney by an island trading
vessel that a large French ship was reported by
some natives to have been lost on the coast of
New Britain, and all hands either drowned or
murdered by the inhabitants of a large village
there.  The Governor fears that this is the missing
transport, and is most anxious to ascertain the
truth.  He has, however, no vessel available for
such a long voyage--the Cyclope cannot be spared,
and there are but two very small schooners, neither
of which is fit for such a task, especially as the
crew of the transport may all be alive, and would
have to be brought here.  Now, he is most anxious
to charter your brig to proceed to New Britain and
search the coast.  I told him I would send you to
see him, so you had better go ashore at once.
I should think you will find such a charter highly
remunerative, and your knowledge of that part of
the South Seas will be invaluable to you.'

Old Sam, scenting a fat charter, was profuse in
his thanks, and hurried off on shore, taking
Mr. Collier with him as interpreter.  Meanwhile the
work of coaling the Virago went on vigorously,
and by six in the evening the brig had hauled off
from her side, and all hands were employed in
cleaning and washing down.

The little man was soon back, bustling with
excitement, having practically come to terms with
the Governor, and the brig was to begin taking in
stores as quickly as possible.  As the Virago was
to leave soon after daylight, Tom went on board
to say good-bye to the commander and his officers,
and, much to his delight, the former presented him
with a handsome double-barrelled gun, with ample
ammunition; told him to write again to his father,
and leave the matter with the Governor, in case
the Cyclope might return to Sydney; said that
old Sam was a thorough old gentleman, who would
make a man and a sailor of him, and shaking
the lad's hand warmly, bade him good-bye.

For many hours that night Tom sat listening to
the mate and captain discussing their future
proceedings; then, unable to sleep, he went for'ard
and woke up the Maori half-caste, and with him
began fishing till dawn.  Then, as the first rays of
sunrise lit up the hills, the smoke began to pour
from the Virago's yellow funnel, the boatswain's
whistles piped shrill and clear in the morning air,
the great paddle-wheels made a turn or two,
and churned under the sponsons, the boats were
hoisted in, and the tramp, tramp of the
blue-jackets' bare feet sounded on the decks as the
capstan was manned and the heavy cable came
in, and then the old-fashioned war-vessel pointed
her nose for Havannah Pass, and steamed slowly
away for the New Hebrides.

For the next few days every one on board the
Lady Alicia was kept busy preparing her for sea.
The Governor was sending an officer from the
Cyclope to nominally command, but who was
really to rely upon old Sam's judgment and advice
in everything, until the survivors--if there were
any--of the transport were found.  If any seamen
could have been spared from the Cyclope, some
would have been sent, but old Sam energetically
assured the Governor that they would not be
needed.  He, however, did not demur to taking
on board thirty rifles and a plentiful supply of
ammunition.

Everything was ready at last, and then came
the last day of the ship's stay in Noumea.  The
skipper had gone ashore to receive his final
instructions, and Mr. Collier and the second mate
were pacing the deck together, looking out for his
boat, and whistling for a breeze to spring up, for
a dead calm had prevailed since early dawn, and
the day had become swelteringly hot, so hot that
even the marine infantry sentries guarding the
convicts working on the foreshore of the harbour
were handling their rifles very gingerly, for the
steel barrels were as hot to the touch as a burning
coal, and the bare, treeless hills at the back of the
newly-formed town seemed to quiver and tremble,
and appeal for rain to slake their parched and
sun-baked sides.  Out in the harbour lay, covered
with awnings fore and aft, the Cyclope, a hulking,
wall-sided old French corvette, which had been
stationed at Noumea ever since Tardy de
Montravel founded the settlement, ten years before.
Nearer inshore was a tiny French schooner, and
between her and the warship was the Lady Alicia.
For'ard, on the latter's deck, were Master Thomas
Wallis and the black cook, the latter being
engaged in instructing Tom how to polish a shark's
backbone, and make it into a walking-stick fit for
a gentleman of quality.

Nearly five months had passed since Tom had
first appeared on board the brig, and his always
brown face was now browner still; and as he
rubbed away at the shark bone his honest, grey
eyes seemed full of content; and, indeed, he was
happy enough.  For now he was to have, he felt
sure, further adventures.

'De ole man's a mighty long time ashore,' said
the coloured gentleman presently; 'I guess he
ain't comin' aboard till he's shown these yere
Frenchers the proper way to wear a stove-pipe
hat an' long tail-coat.  He's been an' gone an'
took Maori Bill with him--"my servant," he calls
him now; an' he's filled Bill's pockets with 'bout
six pound o' tobacco cut up inter small chunks,
an' Bill hez ter drop 'em along the road, so ez
them poor convicts workin' on the chain gang
can pick 'em up when dey sentries isn't lookin'.'

'It's very kind of him, Joe,' said Tom.

The negro nodded.  'Oh yes; he's right 'nuff
dat way, is de ole man.  It's on'y when he gits
usin' dem big high-class college words dat he
makes himself contemptuous.  Why, sometimes I
hez to hold on tight to somethin', for fear he'll see
me laughin', and start out on me.  Hullo, dere he is
comin' down to the jetty with the French officer,
and dere's the blessed breeze comin' too.'

Ten minutes later, Captain Hawkins, perspiring
profusely in his shore-going garments, and
accompanied by a pleasant-faced young naval officer
dressed in white duck, stepped on deck, and in
the most dignified and awe-inspiring manner
asked Mr. Collier if he was 'prepared to heave up.'

'All ready, sir.'

'Thank you Mr. Collier.  Then please get
the hands to loose sails and man the windlass
without delay.  Mr. Collier this is Lieutenant de
Cann of the Cyclope Mr. de Cann, Mr. Thomas
Wallis will you step below, sir, and see if your
cabin appurtenances and gear generally are
concomitant with all and any natural expectations.
One moment, Mr. Collier, before you start heavin'
up, Mr. de Cann is doing me the honour to drink
a bottle of Tennant with me, and I will thank you
to join us.  Tom my bantam lay aft here and
wet your whistle.'

Five minutes later he was in his sea togs
stamping about on deck, and bawling and roaring
out the most dreadful threats of violence to his
crew, as a 'pack of fat lazy good-for-nothing
swabs only fit to scrub paint work or clean out a
stable instead of eatin' good vittels.'

A boat was coming alongside from the warship
with some of De Caen's fellow officers to wish
their shipmate good-bye, and old Sam was
determined to show them how he could do things.

The French officer looked inquiringly at Tom
as he heard the din overhead, and Tom laughed.

'That is only his way, Mr. de Caen, and I
really think the men don't mind it a bit.
Mr. Collier says they like it, and that if the captain
didn't bully them when he's getting the ship
under way or shortening sail, they would be
afraid he was becoming ill.  Look, here's the
steward come for a bottle of Hollands to "grease
the windlass," and you'll find that as soon as we
are clear of the port that Captain Hawkins will
call all the men aft, make them a funny little
speech about good conduct, and give them more
Hollands.'

'Ah, I see, I see.  I did hear from Captain
Byng that your captain was very droll sometimes.'

'Boat from the Cyclope alongside, sir,' said
Tarbucket, a native sailor, unceremoniously putting
his head down through the skylight, and receiving
at the same time a tremendous thwack on his
back from old Sam's open hand for his want of
manners.

The Frenchmen jumped on deck, bade De Caen
a hurried good-bye, and then descended into their
boat again, as the old Lady Alicia, dipping her
ensign to the Cyclope, began to slip through the
water before the freshening breeze.





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.. _`NORTHWARD TO THE SOLOMONS`:

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   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center medium

   NORTHWARD TO THE SOLOMONS

.. vspace:: 2

Once clear of the dangerous expanse of
reefs which surround the entrance to
Noumea Harbour, the captain hauled up
to the N.N.W. and ran along under the land, the
brig going in gallant style, for the water was
smooth and the wind fresh and steady.  Before
reaching Noumea, old Sam had bent his best suit
of sails, and painted the ship inside and out, so
that she now cut quite a respectable appearance
below as well as aloft; and now, as he stood at
the break of the poop, smoking a huge cigar, his
fat little body swelled with pride.  De Caen had
expressed his admiration at the manner in which
he had worked the brig out through the Dunbea
Pass; also he had complimented him upon the
serviceable condition and smart appearance of the
four carronades and their gear generally.

This had gone to the skipper's heart, and he
was struggling with two emotions--one of which
was to joke with his crew, as was usual with him
when in a good temper; and the other was to
treat them with dignified hauteur in the presence
of the French officer.  He decided upon a middle
course by unbending to Tom--he could not
possibly remain silent for a whole quarter of an
hour.  So, calling the lad to him, he pointed out
the various headlands and bays on the line of
coast, with every one of which he was familiar.
The day was clear and bright, with a cloudless
sky of blue, and Tom could not but be enchanted
by the panorama of tropical beauty which was
unfolded before him as the vessel quickly opened
out bay after bay and beach after beach, with a
background of the loveliest green imaginable
rising beyond; and here and there the curious
conical-shaped and thatched roofs of a native
village could just be discerned embowered in a
forest of coco-nut palms.

'And a murdering lot of ruffians they are, too,
Tom, these New Caledonia Kanakas; no better
now than they were fifteen years ago, before the
Frenchmen took the place.  Why I can tell you if
anybody can all about 'em.  I was in the
sandal-wood trade with Captain Paddon, of Annatam--old
Jimmy Paddon who is living in Sydney now
worth millions.  Do you see that narrow bay in
there?  Well, that's Uaran; it's a big village full
of the most poisonous niggers as ever polished
teeth on a man's thighbone.  I was partner with
Paddon.  We had a little fore-and-aft schooner
called the Kirribilli which he sailed about the
coast while I kept to this brig meeting him now
and again at Noumea, Levuka in Fiji, or Tongatubu
in the Friendly Islands or any other port
agreed upon.

'Well, one day as Jimmy Paddon was sailing
along the coast, just about where we are now
four miles off Uaran he sprung his mainmast and
ran in there to anchor and fish it.  He knew the
place pretty well and was friendly with the two
head chiefs who sometimes visited his trading
station at Noumea; so when one of 'em came
aboard with a lot of his people they were allowed
to have the run of the decks and he came down
into the cabin, smoked a pipe with Jimmy, and
then went ashore, saying he would send off some
food for the crew as a present.  Towards four or
five o'clock a whaleship was sighted about four
miles off the land; and as it was falling calm,
Jimmy decided to pull out to her and try to buy
a bolt or two of canvas.  He took four hands
with him leaving the mate and six others on
board.  He got the canvas and started back
for the schooner just after dark, one of the
whaleship's boats coming with him with her second
mate and five hands, to buy some pigs from the
natives.  She was lying nice and quiet but was
showing no light anywhere and there wasn't a
sign of any one on deck.  In a moment he
thought something was wrong, so they stopped
pulling and hailed--no answer.  "Pull up, lads," he
said, and they ran alongside, and as the poor chap
who was pulling bow oar stood up and caught
hold of the rail, a tomahawk came down like a
flash and cut off his hand, and in a moment the
schooner's decks were alive with natives, who
began firing at the boat, killing another man
before it could be pushed off again; and then the
blacks, seeing the whaler's boat coming, began to
jump overboard and swim ashore.

'They, of course, meant to wait till Jimmy and
his boat's crew were all on deck, and then club
them, but one of 'em was in too much of a hurry
and begun work too soon, and that spoilt their
plan.  As soon as the other boat came up they
lit a boat lantern, and Jimmy and the rest went
on board; and there were the decks just smothered
in blood, but no trace of the mate and the rest of
the men.  But it was easy to know where they
had been taken to, for the cannibals' drums were
beating, and every now and then the saucy
niggers would send a bullet flying out, and then
give a yell together.  The schooner was gutted
of most everything of any value--arms, ammunition,
trade goods, and even the sails and standing
rigging were cut to pieces.  Jimmy wasn't long
in hoisting lights for assistance, slipping his cable,
and towing out towards the ship, which helped
him to get the schooner to Noumea.  And that
there job cost us nigh on four hundred pounds,
let alone the loss of the poor mate and the other
men who went into the niggers' gullets.'

Tom was deeply interested in the skipper's
story--only one of hundreds of such tragedies as
were then of common occurrence throughout the
savage Western Pacific, and even at the present
day are still enacted among the murderous and
cannibalistic natives of the Solomon Group and
the German Islands of the Bismarck Archipelago.

For three days the brig ran steadily along the
coast of New Caledonia, till D'Entrecasteaux Reefs
being cleared, the captain and De Caen held a
consultation.  The latter was in favour of laying a
direct course for New Britain.  The former thought
that the brig should work through the Solomon
Islands, where they would be sure to meet with
trading vessels, from which they might obtain
valuable information; furthermore, he contended
that if any of the survivors of the Marengo (the
missing transport) had escaped in boats, they
would be almost sure to steer for Noumea by way
of the Solomons, where not only was there a
likelihood of meeting with trading vessels, but where
they could obtain fresh supplies of water and food
from numberless islands, many of which being
uninhabited, they could land at and refresh without
danger.  Then again, both he and Mr. Collier
pointed out to De Caen that the boats, by
working through the smooth waters lying between the
two chains of islands which form the vast
archipelago of the Solomon Group, would, when they
reached San Christoval, the last island of the
cluster, have but five hundred miles to traverse to
reach the nearest land--the Huon Islands, off the
coast of New Caledonia itself--instead of a long
and trying voyage of sixteen hundred miles across
the open sea, without even sighting a single island,
did they endeavour to make a direct course from
New Britain to Noumea.

De Caen followed old Sam's reasoning very
closely, and could not but be convinced of the
soundness of his arguments.  The general chart of
the Western Pacific was spread out upon the cabin
table, and he looked at it thoughtfully.

'It is possible, Captain Hawkins, that the officer
in command of the boats--if, alas! there is an
officer alive--may have steered for the coast of
New Guinea, rounded the Louisiade Archipelago,
and kept away for the Australian coast.'

'That's true enough, Mr. de Cann, but if they
have done that it's no use our looking for them
now and our orders are to search northward--through
the Solomons if we like, if not, then along
the coast of Noo Britain for the relicks if any are
available.  At the same time I am under your
orders if you like to tell me to steer west for
Whitsunday Pass on the Great Barrier Reef and then
work up along the coast to the Louisiades.'

'Certainly not, captain!  I merely advanced a
supposition.  I have the most absolute faith in your
very excellent judgment and superior knowledge.
Let us steer north for San Christoval, and trust
that good fortune may attend our search.'

Old Sam's red face beamed with a childish
pleasure, and he gurgled something out about 'the
intense relevancy of the satisfaction it gave him to
be in such complete and personal discord with
Mr. de Cann,' and that he 'sincerely trusted they would
always remain as such.'  Then he strutted away,
and bawled out an order to the second mate to
tell the cook to kill the pig, as the creature
'discommoded and dirtied the decks with continuous
incessity and was always rubbing itself against one
of the carronades and suffusing the ship with its
intolerability.'  (As a matter of fact, he had no
ill-feeling against poor Julia, but thought it rather
undignified to have the creature poking about the
main deck with a naval officer on board.)

These were happy days for Tom.  Between
himself and the quiet, self-contained young mate
there already existed a feeling of friendship, which
grew stronger day by day.  The advent of De Caen,
an educated and travelled man, whose usually refined
and dignified manner but concealed a disposition
that in reality was brimming over with an almost
boyish love of merriment and an ardent spirit of
adventure, was another source of pleasure to him;
and both of the grown men seemed to vie with
each other, as the days went on, in instructing a
mind so open and ingenuous, and so quick to receive
impressions for good; for whilst Collier gave him
lessons in navigation and practical seamanship, De
Caen talked to him of the world beyond the
Southern Seas, of the history of his own country,
and was delighted to find that Tom knew a good
deal of his (De Caen's) pet hero, the adventurous
Dupleix, and of his struggle with Clive for the
supremacy of India in the early days of 'John
Company.'

And then in the evenings Collier would tell him
tales of his own adventures in the South Seas, tales
that made Tom's heart beat quicker as he listened,
for the quiet, grave-eyed young officer had faced
death and danger very often, from one side of the
Pacific to the other.

'The South Sea Islands are a bit different, though,
Tom, to what they were fifty, ay, twenty years
ago,' he said, with a smile; 'but even Captain
Hawkins, who pretends to grumble at the changes
that have occurred, admits that us sailor-men have
much to be thankful for.  The missionaries--English
missionaries, I mean--have done a lot for us, quite
apart from what they have done for the natives.
And yet most trading captains have not a good
word for the missionary.'

'Why is that, Mr. Collier?'

'For many reasons, Tom.  One is because
the advent of the missionary means less profit to
the trader, less prestige to him as the one white
man on one particular island.  The trader wants
to sell his grog and his firearms, and he ruins and
destroys the natives; the missionary comes to
elevate and redeem them.  Tom, my boy, you
should read what English missionaries have done
in the South Seas!  It is a better tale than that
of the victories won by British troops upon the
blood-stained field of battle; for the victories of
the missionary have brought peace and happiness
instead of tears and sorrow to the vanquished.
Look here, Tom.'

He took down a book from the shelf over his bunk.

'Here, look at this.  It is the narrative of the
first voyage of John Williams to the South
Seas--John Williams, who gave up his life for Christ
under the clubs of the savage people of Erromanga.
Here you will read the story of those first
missionaries.  Some of them, perhaps, were better fitted
for the task than others; but all were eager to
teach the gospel of Jesus Christ.  And they taught
it well.  Some of them, like Williams, gave their
lives for those whom they had come to help; others
lived and worked and died, and no one hears of
them, Tom.  But though they have no earthly
monument to record their good work, God knows
it all, Tom; God knows it all.'

One morning at breakfast De Caen was telling
Collier some stories about the characters of the
convicts in New Caledonia, and of their continual
attempts to escape to Australia in small and
ill-equipped boats.  Once, he said, a party of nine
desperate creatures hurriedly made a raft by tying
together some timber intended for the flooring of
the Governor's house, and with a few bottles of
water and a bag of flour to sustain them during a
voyage of more than a thousand miles, set out to
reach Australia.  They actually succeeded in
clearing the reefs surrounding Noumea, when the
raft came to pieces, and the poor wretches were
devoured by sharks, in the presence of the crew
of a vessel entering Dumbea Pass.

'Quite recently,' continued the French officer,
'five men, three of whom were seamen, managed,
through the negligence of their guards, to escape
in a good boat.  Their leader, an American by
birth, had been sentenced to penal servitude for
life, for the murder of the captain of a French
ship, of which he was chief officer.  He always
protested his innocence, and at his trial in
Bordeaux said that the steward was the guilty
man.  Our Governor, who is very just and humane,
once told my captain that he believed his assertions;
and indeed the poor fellow was innocent; for the
Cyclope brought an intimation from France to that
effect, and instructions to set him at liberty.  This
was told to me by the Governor the day after the
Cyclope arrived from Sydney.'

Old Sam nearly choked himself with a large
mouthful of bread, and then said--

'What might his name be Mr. de Cann?'

'Casalle--Henri Casalle.'

'Casalle!' Tom echoed; 'why, that was the name
of the captain of the Bandolier; and the man we
saw at Wreck----'

The captain gave him a furious kick beneath
the table, upset his own cup of coffee, and
jumping up from his seat, uttered a yell at the
helmsman at the same time.

'Now then, mutton head, where *are* you
steering to?  Excuse me Mr. de Cann, but that
fellow who is steering is the continual cause of my
flamatory objections.  I could tell you some
queer things about him.  He is a native of
Rotumah--ever been there, sir?--fine island with
remarkable lucidity of climate one of Natur's
handmaidens as it were only waiting to be tickled
with a hoe to laugh with the utmost profligacy.
Tom, as you have finished will you be so good as
to go on deck and tell the second mate to hoist
out a barrel of pork I want to see the head
taken off being American pork I'm dubious about
it if there's anything in the world that disturbs
my naval and automical principles it's stinking pork.'

De Caen waited until he had finished, then
added--

'The Governor was much distressed to think
that this unfortunate man may never learn of his
pardon, for if he and his companions succeed in
reaching Australia, they will most likely never be
heard of again.  Once they get to any of the
gold-fields in New South Wales or Victoria, it will
be impossible to trace them.'

Collier nodded assent, and then in his quiet
manner remarked that, as one of the five was an
innocent man, he hoped they had all reached
Australia in safety.  Then, seeing that old Sam
was looking very uncomfortable, he said nothing
further, and the subject was dropped.

Under clear, cloudless skies, and with the brave
south-east trade wind blowing steadily all day,
and dropping to a faint air at night, the Lady
Alicia made steady progress to the northward till
within a hundred miles of San Christoval.  Then
it fell calm, and for two days the brig lay sweltering
upon a sea of glass, under a fierce, relentless
sun, and rolling heavily to a long sweeping swell
from the eastward.  On the morning of the third
day, the wind came away from the westward, and
blew in sharp, short squalls, attended by thick,
driving rain, which, rising black and lowering on
the sea-rim, changed to a dull grey and then to
snowy white, as it came rushing and roaring down
upon the ship.

Just before noon the sun came out for a brief
space, and Maori Bill, who happened to be aloft,
called out that a sail was in sight right ahead, and
standing down towards the brig.  Mr. Collier at
once went aloft, and there, not three miles away,
was a large white-painted vessel carrying
single-topsails, like the Lady Alicia, and running with
squared yards before the wind.

For the moment Mr. Collier could not make out
whether she was a barque or a brig, as she was
coming 'dead on,' but presently she lifted to a
high sea and yawed a bit, and he saw that she
was a brig of about 500 tons.  In an instant he
hailed the captain.

'Please come aloft, sir, at once.'

Old Sam waddled along the deck, and then
clambered up to the fore-yard beside his mate.

.. _`'Old Sam clambered up to the Fore-yard'`:

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   :alt: SAM CLAMBERED UP TO THE FORE-YARD BESIDE HIS MATE.

   SAM CLAMBERED UP TO THE FORE-YARD BESIDE HIS MATE.

'What is she, Mr. Collier?' he began, and then
he gave a gasp of rage, mingled with alarm, as his
eye lit upon the stranger.

'May I be shot if it isn't Bully Hayes's
brig!  I've never seen the Leonie but that's her
sure enough for I've heard all about the look
of her.'

'Yes, that is the Leonie, sir.  I knew her when
she was in the China trade, before Captain Hayes
stole her.  There is no other vessel like her in the
South Seas.  He means to speak us, at any rate--if
he intends no further mischief--and he can
sail rings round us, so it is no use our trying to
get away from him.  What will you do, sir?'

'Fight him,' said the little man energetically,
'fight him like I would any other pirate--for he
is a pirate and nothing else.'  Then he bawled to
the second mate to stand by to wear ship, and in
another five seconds was on deck, followed by
Collier.

The helm was put hard up, the yards squared,
and the old brig put nearly before the wind,
which was her best sailing point, and which would
give those on board another hour to prepare.  Old
Sam, though really bursting with excitement, gave
his orders quietly and calmly, and then turned to
Lieutenant de Caen, who was thoroughly at a loss
to understand why the brig's course had been so
suddenly altered by the appearance of another ship.

'Mr. de Cann least said is soonest done as it were
so with your permission I will call the hands aft
and if you do not care to participate in my remarks
you are free to do so.  All hands aft.'

The crew, headed by Maori Bill, trooped along
the main deck and stood in a group in front of
the poop, from which the skipper spoke.

'My lads, I'm not running away from that ship,
which is commanded by Captain Bully Hayes, an
out-an-out pirate.  I mean to fight him that's all
I have to say and I hope you will not disgrace
me and this ship which is on foreign service.
Bos'un, cast off the housings and clear the guns
for action.  Mr. Collier you and the steward pass
up the small arms.  Mr. Todd you and two hands
pass up ammunition for the carronades and if I
see any man funking his mother won't know him
again.  Mr. de Cann you may depend upon me
to collorate any suggestions you may make you
being as it were my superior in such a case as is
now protruded.  Stations men and don't disgrace
me and Mr. de Cann.  Tom you can bring up
that flash gun of yours and stand by me here;
every little helps and it is a poor heart that never
rejoices so cheer up my lad.  I will never let you
come to harm through a refuted pirate.  Mr. de
Cann, this ship is to all intents and purposes a
French ship as it were and I am willing to obey
your orders I am confident that we can smash this
fellow but you must let me have my own way and
propagation of ideas which is to lie low and let
him come close to and then let drive at him with
the carronades unless he begins pounding at us
beforehand with his two big guns which I believe
he carries being stolen property like the ship
herself.  Why, he is the man who sunk a
Portuguese gunboat in the East Indies five years ago.
Certainly he only fired one shot at her but it did
the trick and she sunk and when the American
commodore at Hongkong tried to arrest him he
sent him a letter and said it was an accident and
that if it wasn't an accident it was a joke.'

The French officer, who could scarcely follow
old Sam's rapid utterances, but quite understood
that the strange vessel meant mischief, was quickly
enlightened by Mr. Collier in a few words.

'Captain Hayes is the most notorious man in
the Pacific, and his crew have the reputation of
being a band of unmitigated ruffians.  That very
vessel you now see he carried off out of Singapore
five years ago, and since then he had been cruising
among the Islands, trading, pearl-shelling, and
engaging in native wars.  A Portuguese gunboat
tried to capture him off Macao--he sunk her with
one shot.  He has been chased all over the
Pacific by English and American cruisers, but
never yet caught.  At the same time, I do not
believe all that is said about him and his savage
nature, but he certainly is a dangerous man.'

During the few minutes which had elapsed since
the stranger was sighted, the utmost activity had
prevailed on board the Lady Alicia.  Nearly
two-thirds of the eighteen men she carried were
determined, resolute fellows, who had stood by their
captain in many a fight with the savage natives
of the Solomon and New Hebrides Group; and
they were well able to work the four carronades,
though rifles were more to their liking.  The small
arms on board consisted of fifty Enfield rifles and
cutlasses, and then, in addition to these, were the
thirty rifles brought on board by Mr. de Caen.  These
were breech-loaders, which had only been adopted
by the French Navy a year or two before.  They
were a Swiss invention, heavy and awkward to
handle, but yet very effective.  These were brought
up by the lieutenant's orders, and he at once
proceeded to load them, aided by Tom.  Meanwhile,
old Sam had his carronades loaded in readiness,
and the decks of the little vessel presented the
appearance of those of an old time ten-gun brig
going into action.

The strange vessel was now rapidly overhauling
the Lady Alicia, and Tom, as he stood beside the
French officer on the poop, could not repress his
admiration of the beautiful sight she presented as
she rose and sank to the swelling seas--with her
snowy white canvas glinting and shining against
the sun.  For some minutes the little group
watched her in silence; then Hawkins, noticing
how very quickly she was coming up, turned
quietly to the mate.

'Hands to the braces.  Mr. Collier, let him
come up as quick as he likes, I'm ready for him.'

The yards were braced up, and the brig laid to
her former course; the stranger at once followed
suit, and as she sailed three feet to the one of the
Lazy Alice, she was soon within hailing distance.
On decks were a number of naked natives, some
of whom were standing on the top-gallant fo'c'sle.
Aft, on the quarter deck, a big black-bearded
man, dressed in pyjamas, was standing beside the
helmsman, smoking a cigar.

The strange ship came sweeping on, then suddenly
kept away, so as to pass astern of the Lady Alicia.

As she surged past, the big man walked over to
the rail, and drawing one hand carelessly through
his flowing beard, he nodded to Captain Hawkins,
and said with a laugh--

'Good morning, captain.  Will you be so good
as to back your main-yard and let me come
aboard?  But you won't hurt me, will you?'

Before old Sam could frame a reply, the strange
brig came to the wind swiftly and noiselessly, a
whaleboat which hung on the port quarter was
lowered, and pulled over towards the Lady Alicia,
the big bearded man steering.

'Back the main-yard, Mr. Collier,' said old
Sam, quietly.  'Let him come aboard and see how
we look.'





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CAPTAIN BULLY HAYES COMES ON BOARD`:

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   CHAPTER VIII


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   CAPTAIN BULLY HAYES COMES ON BOARD

.. vspace:: 2

The boat drew alongside, and the tall
bearded man climbed up the rope
ladder hung on the side amidships,
and then jumped lightly on the deck, where he
was met just inside the gangway by Captain
Hawkins, who had descended from the poop.

'How do you do, captain?' said the stranger,
affably, extending his hand.  'My name is
Hayes;' and then, as his bright blue eye took
in the surroundings, and he saw the brig's crew
standing by the guns, and a group of armed men
on the poop deck, he gave a loud hearty laugh,
so genuine and spontaneous that old Sam stared
at him in astonishment.

'I asked you not to hurt me, and of course
you won't.  So you, too, think that poor Bully
Hayes is a bloodthirsty pirate!  Come, shake
hands, my red-faced little fighting-cock.  I like
you all the better for your pluck.  There, that's
right;' and seizing the skipper's unwilling hand
in his own, he shook it with tremendous vigour;
'but please make your men put away those rifles
and cutlasses.  I'm such a nervous man, and
the sight of any one with a gun in his hand makes
me both mad and frightened, so that I can't help
knocking him down, just to protect myself.'

'What is it you want on board my ship,
Captain Hayes?' said old Sam, pointedly.

'My dear sir, do not look at me in that distant
manner,' and he clapped his sun-browned hand
on the captain's shoulder, 'it pains me.  You've
rolling topsails, I see.  How do you find them
answer?  Bonnets trouble you?  Mine are
perfection.  You must come on board and see my
ship.  Come, now, my dear sir, *don't* look so
angry.  I'm not at all a bad fellow, I can assure
you, nothing so black as I am painted.'

'Well, you mustn't blame me,' said old Sam,
more graciously, 'you've got the name anyway;
but I must say you don't look like----'

'Like a cut-throat, Captain----'  He paused.

'Hawkins, if you please.'

'Captain Hawkins, I'm glad to meet you.
Now, can you sell me a few bags of rice and
some casks of molasses for my native passengers?
I've a hundred and twenty blackbirds on board,
bound for Samoa, and I'm afraid I'll run short of
rice.'

'I can do that,' said Hawkins, delighted to find
that his visitor had no evil intentions.

'Thank you very much.'  Then, going to the
side, he hailed his boat's crew and told them to
pass up a bag of dollars; and when old Sam asked
him below to have a glass of wine, he again laughed
in his boyish and apparently unaffected manner.
'Certainly, captain, with pleasure.  You have
passengers, I see,' he added, indicating Mr. de Caen
and Tom, but politely ignoring the pile of rifles
lying on top of the skylight.

'Yes,' said the skipper, 'Mr. de Cann, of the
French Navy lieutenant of the Cyclope and
Mr. Tom Wallis--Captain Hayes.'

The moment the visitor heard the words 'French
Navy,' a swift gleam of light passed over his
handsome face; but he bowed courteously to the
officer, and together the three men went below
and seated themselves at the table, whilst the
steward placed refreshments before them.  In less
than ten minutes, so engaging was Hayes's
outspoken yet polite manner, that both Hawkins and
De Caen were laughing and talking with him as
if they had known him for months.

'Where are you bound to, sir?' asked Captain
Hawkins, again filling his visitor's glass; 'you
have a lot of natives on board.  Where are they
from?'

'I am bound to Samoa.  The natives are from
various islands to the northward.  I recruited them
for the German planters in Samoa.  They are a
very savage lot, and'--here he smiled--'although
I hate to have armed men about a ship's deck,
we have to keep our weather eye lifting, or we
might lose the ship some day.  Now, tell me,'
he added pleasantly, 'where are you bound to,
Captain Hawkins?'

'To the Solomons and Noo Britain, captain;'
and then, with an air of pride which he tried hard
to conceal, 'We're under charter to the Governor
of Noo Caledonia to make a search for relicks
human or otherwise of a French transport loaded
with exigencies for the garrison and convicts at
Noumea.'

'Ah,' said Hayes, quickly, 'so you're looking for
the Marengo?'

De Caen and Hawkins sprang to their feet.
'Yes.  Do you know anything about her?'

'Yes, I do,' he answered curtly, with a harsh
inflexion in his hitherto modulated tones.  'I can
tell you all about her, and where to find the ship's
company--on a certain condition.'

'What is it?' said De Caen, with a contemptuous
shrug of his shoulder; 'is it a question of
money?'

An angry flash came from Hayes's blue eyes.
'Be careful how you speak, or you'll get no
information from me.  I don't want money for
putting you on the right course to rescue your
countrymen--though I have little cause to love
them--your admiral at Tahiti sent a rotten old
gunboat to the Paumotus to chase and harry me
from one island to another, when I was a
legitimate trader.  I could have captured that gunboat
on two separate occasions, had I desired it, and
made a bonfire of her for her confounded meddling.
And now that I have said so much, I might as
well tell you both, that if I had wanted to do
this old hooker of a brig any harm, and had
acted up to the reputation I have of being a
pirate, I could have knocked you to pieces in
half an hour, although you do carry four
carronades--I've something better than those.'  Then he
added, with a hard laugh, 'Perhaps you would like
me to show you.'

There was a brief silence, then De Caen said
smoothly--

'I am sorry for my remark, Captain Hayes.
I did not wish to offend you.  But surely no
seaman would try to take advantage of
shipwrecked people?'

'I do not wish to do *them* any harm, but I want
to do myself a considerable lot of good; and it
rests with you entirely whether I tell you where
to find them, or let you go and look for them--and
a pretty search you will have, I can assure you.'

De Caen thought a moment.  'Anything that
it is in my power to do I will do; but surely you
will tell me this first, are the survivors in danger?'

Hayes laughed.  'Ah, that's a clever question,
and I should not answer it until you have heard
my condition, and have given me your answer.  But
I shall.  They are not in danger, and, furthermore,
not a single life was lost when the ship was
wrecked.  This,' he added slowly, and watching
old Sam's and De Caen's faces, 'was told me by
Commander Goigoux himself when he boarded
my vessel a few weeks ago.'

De Caen's face flushed with pleasure.  'I am
pleased indeed.  Now, sir, tell me what it is you
wish me to do.'

'Steady there, if you please, Mr. de Cann,'
interrupted Hawkins, 'before you go making any
promises.  Now look here Captain Hayes without
wishing to cast inflections on your mere verbose
statement I would like you to show us some proof
that you are not playing us a trick, and that you
did see Captain Gee--go.  I've heard that you
are very fond of a joke, and----'

'That is all right, my little bantam.  I----'

'Bantam!--you overgrown turkey-cock!' began
the old man furiously, when the French officer
placed his hand on his arm, and then looked
appealingly at Hayes, who was regarding Hawkins
with an amused smile.

'For goodness' sake, Captain Hawkins, do not
let us quarrel.  Captain Hayes, I am sure, would
not act so heartlessly.'

'No, indeed I would not.  And there, Captain
Hawkins, I meant nothing offensive to you.  You're
a white man to your backbone.  I've heard all
about you and this fine vessel of yours years ago,
from Captain Bannister, who sailed with you as
mate when you were in the blackbirding trade--as
I am now.'

The fat little man was mollified in an instant.
'Joe Bannister is a good friend of mine but I
was never a "blackbirder"--I got my natives
honest square and fair--and if you withdraw
"bantam" I regret "turkey" both of which are
good birds alive or dead;' and he laughed at his
own wit as he held out his hand.

Hayes smiled good-naturedly as he grasped it,
and then resumed--

'Now the captain, officers, and crew of the
transport would be aboard my ship this moment but
for three things.  In the first place, I had on
board two hundred and twenty natives, which are
worth nearly two thousand pounds to me delivered
in Samoa; and Captain Goigoux would not
guarantee me more than fifteen thousand francs for
taking him and his men to Noumea; therefore, as
a business matter, I could not accept his offer.
In the second place, the Governor of New
Caledonia might seize me and my ship for some little
differences I had with the admiral at Tahiti.  To
be perfectly plain, I would have brought the
shipwrecked people away, but did not want to risk
losing both my ship and my liberty for six hundred
pounds.  But I told Captain Goigoux that I would
try to send him assistance; and if you will give
me your promise that you will endeavour to get
the Governor of New Caledonia to have the orders
for my arrest issued by the Governor of Tahiti
cancelled, I will tell you where you can find Captain
Goigoux and his ship's company.  Have I made
myself clear to you?  I told him then what I tell
you now.'

'I will certainly do all in my power for you
with the Governor,' said De Caen; 'for such a
service as you propose to render me he will be
grateful.'

'I hope so,' said Hayes, quietly.  'I have been
hunted from one end of the Pacific to the other
for five years.  I bought land in the Gambier
Group, settled down, and would be a rich man by
now if the Governor of Tahiti had not driven me
out of the Paumotus, and then outlawed me for acts
I was driven to commit through the interference
of the greedy priests and the persecution of his
deputy-governor.  Now, about the Marengo.  She
went ashore in the straits between New Britain
and New Ireland, and broke up very quickly.
All the boats but two were smashed in the surf,
but the crew all got to shore safely, and a number
of stores were saved.  From the spot where the
ship was lost they made their way to Mioko
Harbour, in the Duke of York Island, where you
will find them.  Half of them are down with
fever at one time or another, but otherwise they
are safe.  They built a cutter from the wreck to
carry them to Noumea, but she was accidentally
burnt, and when I left they were beginning
another; but sickness hinders the work, and the
natives have twice attacked them.'

He stopped, and then with a twinkle in his eye,
as he looked at old Sam, took a letter from his
pyjama jacket and went on.

'And here is a letter addressed to the
commander of any French ship of war, the naval
officer in charge at Noumea, or the French Consul
at Sydney or Melbourne.  It was written by
Captain Goigoux.  No doubt you will open it,
Mr. de Caen.'

De Caen took the letter from his hand with an
eager exclamation, and at once read it.

'I thank you very much, Captain Hayes.  You
have made our task easy for us.  And the
Governor will not forget that Captain Goigoux
here writes that you gave him many very necessary
articles to aid him in building and fitting out the
second vessel he is constructing, and would not
accept any payment.  For myself I thank you
very sincerely.'

'And so do I,' said old Sam; 'and believing in
the old axleiom that one good turn deserves
another I won't charge you for the rice and
molasses no one ever said I don't know how to
recipercate in the same way a good or bad action,
under any circumstances so put up those dollars
captain and your good health.'

They drank together, and then Hayes rose to
leave, with the remark that he must not delay, as
two of his officers and a dozen of his men were
suffering from fever, and that with so many
dangerous natives on board he had to exercise
great care, only letting fifty on deck at a time,
and these were carefully watched.

'I have never been caught napping yet,' he
added, 'but I'll be honestly glad when I'm rid of
my cargo this time; for they are all recruited
from the north end of New Ireland, and are as
savage a lot of beggars as ever ate roast man.  If
they came from various islands they would be safe
enough, I could play one lot against the other, if
any party of them plotted to take the ship; but
all coming from one place, I have had an anxious
time, with so many of my men sick.'

'Have you plenty of arms, Captain Hayes?'
said the master of the Lady Alicia.  'I can spare
you ten or a dozen rifles.'

'Thank you, I have plenty; more than we could
use--if we have to use them.  My brig, as you
may have seen, is flush-decked, which is another
disadvantage; but I have a white line painted
across the after part, and another just above the
fore hatch.  Whenever one of them steps over
either of these lines, he gets a crack on the head
from a belaying pin, to make him remember.  So
far, we have had no serious trouble.  I treat them
kindly, and none of my officers or men hit a man
unless he is obliged to do so for our common safety.'

Old Sam nodded.  'Ay, ay, once let 'em think
you're frightened it's a case of bloodshed and
murder.  But you'll have to be careful, captain.'

Just as they were leaving the cabin, the mate
entered.

'The rice and two casks of molasses are in
Captain Hayes's boat, sir; but I don't think it safe
to lower the other barrels--she won't stand it in
such a lumpy sea.  She's too deep as she is.'

The two captains went on deck and looked over
the side.

'Drop our own whaleboat into the water,
Mr. Collier,' said Hawkins, 'and put the two casks
into her.  Then take a couple of hands with you
and get back as quick as you can.'

Hayes thanked him for his good nature.  'I'm
sorry to cause you so much trouble.  I would
have brought another boat as well, but could not
spare the hands.  Now, won't you come aboard
yourself, and have a look at my cargo?'

Old Sam shook his head, and made his usual
remark, about not being able to leave his ship
when on Government service.

'Can't I go with Mr. Collier, sir?' put in Tom,
quickly; 'I'd give anything to go.'

'Would you, my cockerel?  Well, I don't know.
What do you think, Captain Hayes?'

Hayes laughed.  'Yes, let him come, captain.
He'll see what a "blackbirder" looks like.  Come
with me in my boat.'

Tom was delighted, and presently slid down the
boat falls and waited.

Then Hayes, after giving Hawkins some important
particulars about the entrance to Mioko Harbour,
bade him and De Caen farewell, with wishes
for a speedy voyage, got over the side into his
own boat, which shoved off, and followed that of
the mate.

'You'll get wet before you get alongside,
Captain Hayes!' cried Hawkins, pointing to a
rain-squall which was approaching.

The big captain made some jesting reply, and
then Hawkins went below to discuss the important
news they had learnt with the French officer, leaving
Mr. Todd to attend to the ship.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`THE FIGHT ON BOARD THE LEONIE`:

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   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center medium

   THE FIGHT ON BOARD THE LEONIE

.. vspace:: 2

Mr. Collier's boat, being much lighter than
that belonging to the Leonie, and manned
by Maori Bill and three stalwart natives,
soon left the latter some distance astern.  The two
brigs had now drifted about a mile and a half
apart, and presently Hayes, looking at the coming
squall, said--

'We'll have to bring to for a while until----'  The
rest of his words were lost in the hum of the
wind and the tropical rain, which descended upon
the boat with a noise like the simultaneous falling
of thousands of great forest trees; and had not
Tom seized a bucket used as a baler, and set
vigorously to work, the boat would have filled.
For ten minutes Hayes kept her head to wind,
then the rain ceased as if by magic, and the sun
shone out as brightly as ever.

'It's all over, my lad,' said Hayes, as he swung
the boat round again, 'and--oh, the natives have
broken loose.  Pull, boys, pull for your lives!'

As he spoke, there came the sound of rifle shots
from the Leonie, followed by the roar of a heavy
gun, answered by yells and savage cries; and
Tom saw that the brig was lying all aback, and
her after part was crowded with struggling
figures.

'Pull, boys, pull!' shouted the captain, as a
second gun was fired; 'the mate is firing into
them with the two after guns.  Ah, bravo!' he
added, as a third heavy report came from the
Lady Alicia; 'the brig is coming to assist us.
Bravo, little man, bravo!'

Tom, who at the first alarm had sprung to
double-bank the after oar, took a hurried glance
astern, and saw that his own ship was indeed
running down with squared yards towards the
Leonie.  Old Sam had evidently fired one of his
carronades, to let Hayes know he was coming.

For the next five minutes no word was spoken,
as the dark-skinned seamen panted and bent to
their oars, and Hayes, his face now set hard and
cruel-looking, kept his eyes on his ship, from
which came the continuous crack of small arms.

As the boat swept on, he stooped down, and
from the stern locker took out half a dozen
broad-bladed tomahawks and six short Snider carbines
with belts, and filled cartridge pouches and threw
them at his feet.  The four native seamen showed
their white teeth and grinned savagely.

In another two or three hundred yards they
overtook Mr. Collier's boat, which was lying to,
waiting for the Lady Alicia.

'I wish I could help you, sir,' shouted the mate
quickly, as Hayes passed, 'but we are unarmed.
Tom, jump overboard, and I'll pick you up.'

But Tom either could not or would not hear, as
he tugged away at his oar, although Mr. Collier
continued to shout and gesticulate.

"Stay where you are,' said Hayes; 'you need not
come on deck.  Now, look out, boys.  I'll lay you
alongside at the fore-chains.  Avast pulling there
for a bit, and take these.'

In a few moments each man had buckled on his
cartridge pouch, thrust a tomahawk through his
belt, loaded his carbine, and placed it in readiness
beside him.  Then once more they seized their
oars, and as they dashed alongside, and the bow
oarsman grasped the fore-chains, a chorus of savage
yells sounded above, as the body of a white
sailor was thrown over the side, to fall into the
boat.

'Up you come!' roared Hayes to his boat's crew
as, tomahawk in hand, he sprang up the chains
and disappeared over the bulwarks, followed by the
men, leaving Tom alone in the boat, gazing with
horror-struck eyes at the ensanguined form lying
across the midship thwart on which it had fallen.
The sight was too much for him, though his courage
quickly returned.

Seizing the painter, he hurriedly made it fast,
then ran aft, picked up the remaining carbine, and
with his heart thumping against his ribs clambered
up after the others, and jumped down on deck,
landing on the top of some dead natives lying
between the bulwarks and the for'ard deckhouse.

For a moment or two he was dazed, not only at
the sight of the awful carnage the decks presented,
but with the din, and smoke, and yells, and curses
that filled the air.  The fore deck was covered with
dead and dying savages, and the main filled with
a swaying, surging mass of naked figures, half of
whom were pressing towards the after deckhouse,
to which the survivors of the crew had been driven,
and the others surrounding the giant figure of
Hayes and his boat's crew, who were hacking and
hewing their way through them with their hatchets;
for, after the first few shots, they had been unable
to use their carbines again.

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Tom raised
his Snider to his shoulder, and sent his first bullet
into the packed mass before him.  Then quickly
jerking out the empty case, he slipped in another
cartridge and fired again.

'That's good!' shouted a voice above him; 'jump
up here, young feller, quick!'

Loosely coiled on top of the deckhouse was a
huge coir hawser, and in the centre of it was the
man who had called Tom.  He was evidently
wounded, for he was in a sitting position.  Putting
one foot through a port in the deckhouse, Tom
clambered up, and took his place beside him.

'Quick!  Lie down, and fire into 'em there on the
starboard side,' said the wounded man; 'my arm
is nearly broken, and I'm no good.  Ah! that's
it!' he cried, as Tom began firing steadily into a
crowd of savages on the starboard side, who were
so tightly jammed together that every shot did
deadly work.  'Hurrah! the skipper's through into
the house, and one man with him.  Look out,
young feller, they've seen us.  I oughtn't to have
brought you up here.  Jump down again, and over
the side, and swim round to the stern.  Don't
mind me, youngster, I'm done for.  Even if I was
all right, I can't swim.'

'I'll help you,' panted Tom, putting another
cartridge into the breach, 'and the boat is here
under the chains.'

In an instant they were on their feet, jumped
down, and got over the side into the boat just in
time, for half a dozen enemies made a savage rush
at them, and one, springing up on the rail, hurled
a club at Tom.  It struck the barrel of his Snider,
and sent it flying out of his hand into the sea.

The sailor, although his right arm was almost
useless, and he had received a slashing cut across
his ribs, quickly severed the painter with his
sheath-knife, and then, pushing the boat off, he put an oar
out, and, with Tom's aid, worked the boat round
to the stern of the brig.

'The mate and some other sick men are in the
cabin; the ports are open, and we can get in, if you
heave the painter through, and have it made fast.'

Breathless and excited as he was, Tom, without
answering, did as he was told, and as soon as the
boat was under the square stern of the brig, he
called out--

'Stand by there, and catch this line.'

A man's face appeared at the port, and, as Tom
hove the line, he caught it, and then called out--

'All fast.'

Leaving the wounded sailor--who protested that
he was quite comfortable--in the boat, Tom, with
the aid of the painter, got through the port and
into the main cabin, just as Hayes rushed down
the companion.

'Where is the steward, Mr. Kelly?' he said to
the man who had spoken to Tom, and who was
lying on cushions on the transoms.

'Dead, sir;' and Kelly pointed to a prone figure
near the cabin table.  'He was one of the first to
be cut down when the niggers rushed the after
guard.  I did what I could for him, but he did
not last long.'

Hayes bent down and looked into the face of
the dead man.

'Poor Manuel! poor Manuel!' he muttered,
and drawing off the tablecloth he spread it
over the body.  Then, as he turned to speak to
his chief officer again, he caught sight of Tom.
'Ah, my boy, I'm glad you are safe.  Mr. Kelly,
we have beaten the natives back for the present,
but they have possession for'ard and below in the
'tween decks.  But there are two boats coming
from that brig, and I hope we can avoid further
bloodshed.'

The mate, a tall, thin American, who was hardly
able to stand through weakness, was about to make
some reply, when the boats were reported
alongside, and then a second later a hoarse cry rang
out--

'Fire!  The ship is on fire, sir!'

Hayes leapt up the companion way, followed by
Tom, and saw, as he gained the deck, that smoke
was issuing from the fore part of the main hatch,
which was open.  And at the same moment, and
as the men from the Lady Alicia, headed by old
Sam and Collier, sprang on deck, the natives
streamed up from below from both fore and main
hatchways, and again attempted to get possession
of the deck.  So sudden was their onslaught that
most of the white men, although they shot five or
six of the foremost, were driven back aft to the
deckhouse, leaving Mr. Collier, Maori Bill, and
Tom cut off and surrounded by a score or so of
blood-maddened savages, all armed with clubs and
tomahawks.  Old Sam, a gigantic American negro
belonging to the Leonie, and half a dozen of
Hawkins's men, made a dash to their aid, and
slashed their way through to them with their
cutlasses--for they were unable to use their rifles.
Tom and Mr. Collier were down, and not knowing
whether they were alive or dead, their rescuers
picked them up and then fought their way aft again.
Then Hayes, with rage and despair in his heart,
as he saw the smoke increase in volume, called
out to Hawkins to make a stand with his men on
each side of and in front of the deckhouse.

'Keep them at bay for another five minutes.
I shall show them no mercy now!'

Utterly undaunted by the steady and deadly
fire which had been poured into them by the crew
of the Lady Alicia and the crew of the Leonie,
the natives made the most determined efforts to
overwhelm them by sheer force of weight alone.
Then Hayes's voice was heard--

'Stand back there!--this will settle the business.'

He and some of the Leonie's crew had loaded
the two guns with heavy charges of nuts and bolts,
nails, and whatever other bits of iron which could
be found in the deckhouse.

The guns were quickly run forward, until their
muzzles were almost touching the naked bodies
of the savages, and then fired by Hayes and the
big negro.

For a moment or two after the bursting roar of
their discharge there was silence; and even Hayes,
maddened and desperate as he was, could not help
shuddering when he saw the awful sight the main
deck presented.

Driving all who were left alive of the now
cowed and terrified natives down into the
fore peak, Hayes and Hawkins turned their
attention to the fire, leaving their own wounded
to be attended to by Mr. Todd and Lieutenant
de Caen, both of whom now appeared with a
fresh party of men from the Lady Alicia to assist.

The fire was fortunately confined to the after
part of the 'tween decks, and the hands from the
Lady Alicia turned to with such hearty good-will
that two hoses were soon at work; and a cheer
went up when, after ten minutes' vigorous pumping,
the smoke rapidly decreased, and a party were
able to descend and completely extinguish it.

Then old Sam and Hayes, blackened with
smoke and all but exhausted, went aft to the
deckhouse.  Todd met them with a grave face.

'Mr. Collier is dying, Captain Hawkins, and
wishes to see you; and that poor lad is pretty
badly hurt too.'

Sitting in the centre of the house, and supported
by De Caen, poor Collier was breathing his last,
his dark features fast paling with the coming
dissolution of soul from body.

Above, in one of the berths, lay Tom, with
closed eyes and bandaged head.  In all the
remaining bunks--six in all--there was either a
sick or a wounded man.  Tom had received a heavy
blow on his forehead, and another on his ribs from
a club; the mate had been cut down with a
tomahawk.

As Hayes and the captain of the Lady Alicia
entered, and Tom heard old Sam's voice, he
opened his eyes, and vainly tried to sit up.

'My poor boy, my poor boy!' said the old
seaman, stepping over to him, and taking his hand,
'are you badly hurt?'

'Not much, sir; but I got a tremendous crack
on the side, that pains terribly,' said Tom in a
faint voice.  'Oh, how is poor Mr. Collier, sir?'

Hawkins shook his head sadly.  'Going fast
my lad, going fast!' he said, as he turned away
from Tom to kneel beside the young mate, who
was feebly asking for him.

Tom saw the skipper's old white head bend
close to Collier's face, and the two men speaking
to each other.

Then a brief pause, and then Collier called out
distinctly--

'Tom!'

'Yes, Collier,' replied Tom.

'Good-bye, Tom, my dear lad.  I cannot see
your face; good-bye.'

He made a faint motion of farewell with his
hand, leant his head against old Sam's shoulder,
and Tom covered his face, and sobbed under his
breath.  When he looked again, De Caen and the
captain were gone, and the still figure of his
friend was lying on the deck with his face covered
with old Sam's blue-and-white silk handkerchief.
Seven of the Leonie's crew of thirty had been
killed, and as many more wounded; and as soon
as possible the bodies of the former were brought
on the quarter deck and made ready for burial,
together with that of the first mate of the Lady
Alicia.

For some little time, as the two brigs sailed
along within a few cable lengths of each other,
Hayes and the master of the Lady Alicia paced
the quarter deck and talked of the fight.  The
old man was deeply distressed at the death of
Collier, and Hayes, worried as he was with his
own troubles, was touched at the spectacle of his
grief.

'I am sorry, for your sake, that we ever sighted
each other, Captain Hawkins,' he said; 'more than
that I cannot say.  I do not want to speak of my
own losses; but I do want you to believe me--I
am sorry, very sorry.'

Old Sam drew his hand across his eyes.  'It
cannot be helped,' he answered huskily, 'and I
only did for you what was my duty as a man, and
what I believe you would have done for me if I
stood in the same danger; but I would rather have
lost my ship and all I have in the world than that
poor young fellow.  A better seaman never trod
a deck, and a better, cleaner livin' man never drew
breath, an' he's gone with a clean sheet too.'

Hayes nodded, and smoked on in silence for
another half a dozen turns, then said--

'About that poor boy, Captain Hawkins.  His
back is badly hurt, and if you take him away with
you, the chances are that he will die of fever when
you get to New Britain.  This is the rainy season,
and that some of your ship's company will be laid
up with fever is a dead certainty.  He will never
recover from even a slight attack.'

Old Sam groaned.  'Poor lad! what can I do?
Believe me, sir, I'd as lief die myself as see him
go.  It would just about finish me if I had to
write to his father and----'

'Leave him with me,' said Hayes, quickly.  'I
pledge you my honour as a man to take good
care of him.  With this westerly weather we shall
make a quick run to Samoa.  If he is not better
by the time we get to Apia, there are two good
doctors there.  And from Samoa he will soon get
a chance to return to Australia.  I will pay his
passage.  If you take him with you, you are risking
his chances of recovery, strong as is his
constitution.  Mr. de Caen,' turning to the Frenchman,
who had joined them, 'do you not think so?'

De Caen did think so, and so it was decided
that Tom should remain on board the Leonie, and
old Sam and De Caen went to bid him farewell.

'Tom my hearty,' said the skipper, after he had
explained to the lad the reasons for his decision,
'you have to get well without any prevarication
and go home to your father and brother and tell
them that old Sam Hawkins isn't a bad old
shellback with all his delimits and sincrasses as it
were and that he knows his duty and proper
evolutions, and you'll have Maori Bill with you
to remind you of me and the old Lady A--for
Mr. de Cann is a gentleman and is going to do
mate's duty in place of poor Mr. Collier and I've
given Captain Hayes the loan of Maori Bill and I
want you Tom to never disremember that if you
never see old Sam Hawkins again, that his last
words were always do the straight thing and keep
clear of drinkin' and swearin' and dirty conduct
and do your duty and give my honoured requests
to your father and eat all you can, the more
vittels you stow away under the bunt when you
have broken bones the more they get settled up as
it were and inform their natural functions on the
germinus through which the pores circulate.
Good-bye my boy, and God bless you and never
say die under any exemplifications no matter
where or how rigidous.'  And the kind-hearted
old sailor wrung Tom's hand so warmly that even
had not the lad's overwrought feelings at parting
with him brought the tears to his eyes, the energy
of the farewell would have done so.  Then De
Caen came and bade him good-bye in his effusive
French fashion, much to Tom's discomfiture--for
what lad with British blood in his veins likes
being kissed by a man?--and promised to write to
him from Noumea.  Late in the afternoon both
brigs hove to.  Mr. Collier's body was placed in
one of the boats from the Lady Alicia, and Hayes
once again bade Hawkins and De Caen good-bye.

Maori Bill, whose own chest, with Tom's effects,
had been sent on board the Leonie, shook hands
with his captain and Mr. de Caen in silence, and
then quietly walking through the men assembled
on the main deck, descended to the boat in which
the body of the mate was laid, lifted the rug
which covered it, and pressed his face to the dead
man's hand, and uttered a short *tagi*, or cry of
mourning.  Then returning to the deck, he stood
awaiting the orders of his new captain.

As the two boats pulled quickly away towards
the Lady Alicia, Hayes waved his hand to De
Caen and Hawkins, and then beckoned to Maori Bill.

'Bill, come here.  I want you to do the second
mate's duty.  He will take Mr. Kelly's place.  I
know that you are a good man, and will stand no
nonsense.  Stand by me, and I will stand by
you.  Call the hands aft.'

The crew trooped aft silently, and Hayes said,
curtly--

'Men, this man here is the second mate now,
instead of Mr. Harvey, who will take Mr. Kelly's
place until Mr. Kelly is able for duty again.
Remember that he is an officer now, and "Mr. Chester."'

Then, turning to a coloured man who was now
doing duty as steward, 'Serve out some grog.'

Grog was served out liberally to the hands as
they stood, and then Hayes brought the brig up
a couple of points, so as to increase her speed.
The breeze had now freshened, and for an hour
or so the two vessels kept the same course.

As the sun began to dip into the western
sea-rim, Hayes hove-to and hoisted the American
colours half-mast.  The Lady Alicia also brought
to, and half-masted both British and French colours.

Standing in the waist with bared heads, Hayes
and most of the crew waited till the bodies of the
seven murdered men were brought from aft, and
laid side by side on the deck.  Then, as he said
in low but distinct tones the words, 'We therefore
commit these bodies to the deep, to be turned
into corruption,' the canvas-shrouded forms were
launched overboard in succession as quickly as
possible.

Scarcely had the last body plunged towards its
resting-place two thousand fathoms deep, when
Hayes called out in a harsh voice--

'Turn to again, Mr. Harvey.  East by south is
the course.  Steward, serve out some more grog
to the men.  Mr. Harvey, lower the colours, and
then run them up again and dip to the Lady Alicia.'

He strode aft again, and Tom, lying and
listening in his bunk in the deckhouse, heard him
suddenly burst out into an awful torrent of
blasphemy, cursing his ill-luck: his officers, who
'could let a lot of naked niggers take charge of
the ship, and kill seven men who were as good
and better men than any one of them,' and the
crew themselves for being such a lazy, useless lot
of loafers and dead-beats, who deserved to have
their throats cut.  And, he added savagely, he
would show them what he thought of such a lot of
crawling, useless 'soldiers,' who were not fit to be
left in charge of a canal boat tied up to a horse's tail.

He ceased as suddenly as he began, and then
coming to the door of the deckhouse, peered in
and spoke to the fever-stricken and wounded men
in such suave and kindly tones, that Tom could
scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses.

'And how are you, my boy?' he said, coming
over to him, and placing his hand on his knees
with almost fatherly kindness.  'Do you think
you can bear moving?  I want to have you down
in the cabin, where you will be more comfortable
than in this house.  You can lie on one of the
transom lockers, where you will get plenty of air
through the stern ports.  The mate will be near
you, and you and he will have to make a race to
see who gets on his pins first.'

Tom smiled.  'Just as you please, sir; but I don't
want to give too much trouble.'

Hayes nodded.  'That's all right.  You're to be
the leading invalid on board the Leonie, and all
hands and the cook are to stand by and wait on
you.'  Stepping outside, he called out--

'Send a couple of hands here, Mr. Harvey, to
carry Mr. Wallis below; and tell Charlie to come here.'

'Charlie' was the sailor with the injured arm,
who, as soon as Tom was lifted out of his bunk,
appeared with his arm in a sling, contentedly
smoking a pipe.

'How are you, Charlie?' said Hayes.

'Right as rain, sir.  I guess you've made a good
job of it, sir,' indicating his arm.  'Hallo, young
feller, how are you?  Here, shake;' and he put out
his left hand to Tom; 'my right arm is parcelled
up like a half dollar roll of preserved Tahiti
bananas.  Young feller, I reckon thet you hev the
makin's of a general in you.  If it hadn't been for
him, captain, I wouldn't be here now.  He's grit to
the backbone.'

Tom was lifted up carefully by two of the crew,
and carried below to a comfortable, amply cushioned
lounge on the transoms, where he was greeted by
the sick mate, whose legs were so enormously
swollen from the effects of fever and quinine that
he was unable to stand.  Otherwise he was
perfectly sound, and in full possession of a truly
remarkable fund of vituperative expressions, some
of which, when he heard Tom let an expression
of pain escape him, he hurled at the two men who
brought him down.  Neither of them, he asserted
with many unnecessary oaths, had the strength to
lift a sitting hen off her nest, nor the will to pull
their mothers out of a fire; also that as soon as he
'got around' again he would haze their worthless
lives out of their useless carcases for their
clumsiness, and derive unalloyed pleasure from seeing
them go over the side feet first with a round shot
at their heels.

The men, both of whom were Chilenos, grinned
and made no reply.  They were used to him, for,
ruffian and brute as he was to them occasionally,
they yet had a liking for him, born out of their
constant association with him in the face of danger
and death.  And Tom, though the man's language
and merciless severity shocked and horrified him,
later on learned to respect the many good traits
in his character, chief of which were his
unswerving devotion and loyalty to Hayes, his iron
resolution and dauntless courage, and his restless,
untiring energy and watchfulness in all that
concerned his duty and care of the ship.  Then, too,
he had a sense of humour, grim enough, perhaps
inborn, perhaps unconsciously acquired from Hayes,
who, in his bursts of temper, would kick an
offending seaman all round the deck, down the
companion-way, and bawl out 'Arnica!' to the
steward simultaneously.

Unable to sleep from the pain he suffered, Tom
was rather glad than otherwise that the mate,
from the same cause, was rather restless, and
disposed to be very communicative.  The night
was brilliantly clear and bright from the light of
myriad stars; and from the widely opened stern
ports he and Tom, who were lying near each other,
watched the bubble and boil of the phosphorescent
water in the brig's wake as it went hissing astern.
Mr. Kelly, in expectation of one of his frequent
attacks of ague, was heavily wrapped up in blankets
and rugs, so that only his face was visible.

'We have the breeze set steady now, I believe,'
he said, 'and ought to sight Vanikoro in a couple
of days.  Were you a passenger on that brig?'

Tom gave him the history of his adventures, to
which the American listened with great interest,
and in return he gave Tom an account of the
origin of the attempt to capture the Leonie by the
natives.

When Hayes left to board the Lady Alicia the
brig was in charge of the second mate, who had
with him the carpenter and boatswain, the latter
being stationed for'ard to watch the natives--about
forty--who were on deck at the time.  The
chief mate himself, the third officer, and two boys
who were suffering severely from fever, were
lying down in the main cabin, and in the after
deckhouse were two or three other sick men, and
two more were lying on mats under the topgallant
fo'c'sle, being attended to by Manuel, the
half-caste Portuguese steward.  On the topgallant
fo'c'sle were two white seamen armed with rifles
and cutlasses; another stood guard over the main
hatchway, keeping watch upon the remaining
hundred and eighty savages in their quarters in
the 'tween decks, and two other men armed with
cutlasses only were stationed one on each side of
the deckhouse aft.  Between the deckhouse and
the bulwarks were two brass guns (heavily charged
with slugs and bullets), but these had their
housings on, on account of the rain-squalls, and were
not instantly available at the moment they were
wanted.  The rest of the crew, who were not
armed, but whose rifles and cutlasses were handy
for use in the for'ard deckhouse, or in their own
bunks, were dispersed about the decks, engaged
in various work, utterly unsuspicious of any danger.

Suddenly, and in the midst of a heavy, drenching
rain-squall, the forty natives on deck sprang
upon the crew, killed the two sentries up for'ard
and the one at the main hatch, and were instantly
joined by many others from below, the poor seaman
on guard there being cut down as he was attempting
to unhook the ladder and drop it below.  A third
party, who had cut a hole through the forward
bulkhead, made their way on deck through the
fore-scuttle, and armed with tomahawks and clubs
united with their fellows, and made a determined
rush aft, driving before them most of the unarmed
seamen.  Fortunately, the men who were on sentry
in the alley-ways beside the house made good use
of their Sniders, and so gave their comrades time
to obtain arms from both the deckhouse and main
cabin.  Then it was that the second mate
succeeded in firing the two guns.  The discharge from
the first cut a lane through the swarming savages
on the port side; the second, through being badly
pointed in the mad confusion, did but little damage.

'Then,' added the mate,' you fellows came along;
an' I guess I felt pleased.  I couldn't get up to
take part in the proceedin's myself--had to stay
down here and load rifles and pass 'em up on
deck.  Anyway it's been a mighty bad business all
round....  Seven of our men gone, one of yours,
and ninety valooable----'

'Don't,' said Tom shudderingly, covering his
face with his hands; 'don't say any more--it was
too horrible.'

The American desisted at once, when he saw
how even the memory of the dreadful scenes
affected the lad's mind.

The morning of the third day broke bright and
glorious.  Overhead a vault of cloudless blue,
beneath, the gently heaving bosom of a sea
shimmering and glinting and sparkling in the clear,
warm sunshine, with here and there groups of
white birds floating lazily upon its surface; five
miles astern the high, wooded peaks of Vanikoro
Island were fast changing their purple loom to a
vivid green, as the wind dispelled the mountain
mists of the past night.

With every stitch of her snowy canvas swelling
to the sweet, cool breeze, the Leonie was cutting
her way through the water at six knots, almost
without noise.  Aft, pacing the quarter deck on
the weather side, Hayes, dressed as usual in linen
pyjamas, and smoking his first cigar, was waiting
for his coffee, and casting a look, now at the island
abeam, and now aloft; then as his eye fell upon
the end of the for'ard deckhouse, which faced the
main hatch coamings, and he noticed anew its
wrecked and shattered condition, caused by the
fire of the guns, his features underwent such a
sudden and ferocious change, that Maori Bill, whose
watch it was on deck, turned his head away, and
pretended not to notice.  In a moment or two,
however, the captain resumed his walk, but there
played about his lips such a vicious, savage smile,
that those who knew him, and had chanced to see
it, would have known that there was mischief
afloat.

Presently up came Tom from below, walking
somewhat stiffly, and carrying two books in his
hand.

'Well, Wallis, my boy, how are you this
morning?  Ready for your coffee, eh?  What's that
you have?--ah, *La Pérouse's Voyage autour du
Monde*.  Who gave you that?  Can you read
French?'

'Not very well, sir.  Mr. de Caen gave me both
*La Pérouse's Voyage* and this one, *The Fate of
La Pérouse*, which is by Captain Dillon, and I am
now reading about his discovery of the relics of
the Boussole and Astrolabe, La Pérouse's ships, on
Vanikoro in 1828.'

'Ha, I must read that.  There's Vanikoro, my
boy, over there, and that's where Jean François
Galaup, Comte de la Pérouse, perished with every
other living soul on board the two ships.'

Then, for the next twenty minutes, as he drank
his coffee, he talked; now mentioning some wild
adventure in the China seas, now sneering at
Englishmen and their 'dull pig-headedness,' and
then suddenly flying off at a tangent, and saying--

'Did you ever read that piece about Deering
Woods by Longfellow?  I know Deering Woods
well, although I come from Cleveland City, on
the Great Lakes.  The smell of those woods is in
my nostrils now, even after fifteen years.'

Presently the boatswain came aft, and said,
'There is a big nigger sulking, sir.  He won't eat.
Says he's sick.'

Hayes scowled.  'Shamming, I suppose?'

'Of course he is.  He is the fellow who killed
Manuel.'

'Ah!'--and the savage fury of the captain's voice
made the blood in Tom's veins run cold--'that is
that big buck who has been at the bottom of the
mischief all along.  Rout the whole lot of them
up on deck; I'll give him some medicine anyway.'

Followed by two or three seamen, the boatswain
descended to the 'tween decks, and in a few
minutes the black 'cargo' of the Leonie was
standing on the main deck.  Out of the hundred
and thirty who were left, many were wounded,
either by bullet or cutlass; a dozen or so women,
equally as savage and repulsive-looking as the
men, grouped themselves together, and stared
sullenly at the captain.  Four of the men were
handcuffed--these had been especially prominent
in the outbreak, among them was the man whom
the boatswain had reported as being sick.  He
was of herculean stature, and the natural ferocity
of his aspect was heightened by his hideous red
lips and black teeth, the result of chewing betelnut.

'Range them on both sides of the main hatch,
Mr. Harvey,' said Hayes, producing a pocket-book,
'and tell every man that as I call his name he
must step out and come aft.'

Then he began to call out the names, slowly
and quietly.  When no response was made,
Harvey called out, 'Dead,' and he drew his pencil
through the name.

When the last name on the list had been called,
and the natives were grouped together aft, Hayes
looked at them with a lowering brow.  Then he
motioned to Harvey.

'Come here, Harvey.'

Harvey stepped over to the captain, and for a
few minutes the two conversed in low tones, the
crew meanwhile, with loaded rifles, keeping a
close watch upon the natives.

Then Harvey (the only man on board who
could speak the New Ireland language) at Hayes's
behest spoke to the sullen savages.

'The captain says this.  He is stronger than
you.  You tried to kill us all.  Now ninety of you
have gone into the bellies of the sharks.  Now,
tell him who among you was the leader?'

There was no answer.

Hayes's face paled with anger.  'Tell them that
I will take every one of them, one after another,
and flog them until I am told who it was hatched
the plot.'

Harvey repeated his words, but without effect.

'Take that fellow first,' said the captain,
pointing to the native nearest to him, 'trice him up,
and flog him until he speaks.'

Shuddering and sick at heart, Tom saw the
man--a strong, well-built savage with a mop of
hair twisted into hundreds of greasy curls--seized
for punishment, and a sigh of relief escaped his
lips when at the third or fourth lash he called out
that he would tell.

Dewarrian, he said, was the man who had
planned the attack.  Dewarrian had killed many
white men before, and so they listened to him.

Dewarrian, a big native, was brought before the
captain by two seamen; Mr. Harvey stood with
them to interpret.

'Dewarrian,' said Hayes, quietly, 'you ought to
die.  But there are too many blood-stains on this
deck.  So I will spare your life.  Trice him up
and give him six dozen.  Then let the hands get
breakfast.'

'Oh, captain, don't, please don't!' cried Tom.
'Can't you give him some other punishment?  Do,
I beg of you, let him off any further flogging.'

The passionate tone of entreaty that rang in his
voice had its effect; and Hayes considered a
moment.

'Very well, Tom, I'll let him off.  Put him in
irons again, Mr. Harvey, and send him below.  I
guess he's scared enough as it is.'

At breakfast Tom did not join the captain, who
sat alone at the table, apparently not caring for
the society of any one.  During the rest of the day
he scarcely spoke, even to his officers, though
Mr. Kelly came and reported himself as fit for duty
again.  A curt nod was the only recognition he
received.

Then followed days of weariness and vexation
to all, for the wind failed, and a long calm ensued,
and the captain gave way to such mad bursts of
rage, that Tom began to sicken of the Leonie and
her strange master.  One night he spoke to Maori
Bill on the matter.

'So am I sick of it,' said the seaman.  'I've
sailed in a good many rough ships in my time,
Tom; but this brig is the worst of any, and
Hayes is more of a devil than a man.  Look how
he treats his men!--sometimes so nice and soft
to them that you'd think butter wouldn't melt in
his mouth, and the next minute he knocks a
man down senseless.  And the curse of God is
on this labour trade, for, although Hayes treats
these savages pretty well, he only does so because
he wants to land them in prime condition in Samoa.
It's slavery, Tom, that's what it is, and nothing
else.  These poor beggars think that they are
only going to Samoa to work on the German
plantations for three years--they'll be lucky if
they see their own country again in seven.'

'How cruel!  But can nothing be done for
them?  Will not the Samoan Government protect
them?'

'There's no government there worth speaking
of--only the three consuls: German, Yankee, and
English, who help the native king to pay the
police, that's all.[#]  And the big German planting
firms can do just as they please in Samoa; they
pretty well rule the country.'

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: left small

   [#] This was the actual condition of affairs
   in Samoa at the time.

.. vspace:: 2


'Don't the missionaries interfere?'

'No, sir.  How could they?  Samoa is a no-man's
land, and if an English missionary were to
try to get in on to one of the big plantations, just
to see how the natives were being treated, he'd
get into a lot of trouble.  His own Consul would
round on him and threaten him with all sorts of
penalties, and half a dozen of the British
storekeepers in Africa would write a letter to the
Governor of New South Wales saying that the
missionaries were again inciting the imported
natives to rebel against their masters, and bring
about bloodshed.  It's just this way, Tom: the
planters in Samoa say they cannot carry on
unless they have coloured labour from the other islands,
and the storekeepers say the same, and the two
together work dead against the missionaries.  They
do the same thing in Fiji.  The cotton planter,
and the sugar planter, and the big storekeeper all
work together to keep the labour trade, as *they* call
it, going; but *I* call it slavery.  The missionaries
and a few other white men want to see it swept
away, and swept away it ought to be.  But we mustn't
stand talking here any longer.  This is a dangerous
ship, and we must be careful.  Good night, sir.'





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TOM AND MAORI BILL GO ON A BOAT VOYAGE`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER X


.. class:: center medium

   TOM AND MAORI BILL GO ON A BOAT VOYAGE

.. vspace:: 2

In the tenth day after sighting and
dropping Vanikoro, and when the beautiful
islands of Fotuna and Alofi, two of the
gems of the Pacific, were plainly visible from the
deck, Hayes came up from below in unusually
good temper.

'Mr. Kelly, I'm going to run into Singavi
Harbour on Fotuna to buy yams--a hundred tons,
if I can get them.  They will bring a thumping
price in Samoa, and we can get them for almost
nothing here, and clear over five thousand
dollars.'

'Reckon thet will help you pull up some over
them dead niggers.'

Hayes smiled pleasantly.  'Yes, it will about
bring things even.  Keep her head for that high
peak on Fotuna.  We'll be there early enough to
start the natives digging this afternoon.  Tom,
you'll see some rare old trading now.  Come and
lend me a hand in the trade-room.'

The trade-room of the Leonie was on the port
side of the main cabin; three of the state-rooms
had been made into one, and shelves fitted all
round.  On the upper of these such articles as
prints and calicoes were stored; the lower ones
being filled with old-fashioned muskets, axes,
tomahawks, 16-inch butcher-knives, pistols, and
vast numbers of discarded short Enfield rifles with
bayonets attached.  On the deck were eight or
ten huge tierces of negrohead tobacco, cases of
gin, and kegs and boxes of powder.

Hayes, with Tom and a couple of the hands,
were soon hard at work on a couple of tierces of
tobacco, digging out the compact layers of the
black, fragrant weed, pulling each stick apart, tying
them up in bundles of ten, and passing them on
deck, where they were placed in trade boxes.  Then
followed powder and bullets, caps, knives, bales of
Turkey red twill and navy blue calico.

Hayes was in such an excellent humour that
the work proceeded very pleasantly, and he talked
with almost boyish exuberancy to Tom about the
island of Fotuna and the natives.  They were, he
said, rather a saucy lot, and as he did not want
to have his decks filled with three or four hundred
of them, and run the risk of a fight occurring
between them and his cargo of 'blackbirds,' he
would do all the trading on shore, weigh the yams
on the beach, and send them off in the boats to
the ship.

'They are not a bad lot of people,' he added,
'although they are all good Catholics--that is,
every man, woman, and child of them have
crucifixes hanging round their necks--and all are born
thieves.  However, they know their mark, and
won't try to rob *me*.'

Soon after dinner the Leonie sailed into a tiny
little harbour under the shadow of Mount Schouten,
and anchored within a few yards of the beach,
and directly in front of the largest village on the
island.  Taking Tom with him, the captain at
once went on shore, and interviewed the leading
chief and the one white trader--an old
white-headed Englishman, whom Tom learnt afterwards
was an escaped convict.  A bargain was soon
made, as yams were very plentiful, no trading
ship had touched at the island for many months,
and the natives were eager to sell.  The chief
showed Hayes some specimens of the yam
crop--three enormous vegetables, each of which
weighed sixty or seventy pounds.  Then a
conch-shell was sounded, and the chief and his head
men summoned the people together, and ordered
them to begin digging the yams at once.

Promising to bring the trade ashore at
daylight, and begin weighing the yams, Hayes,
accompanied by the chief and the old trader--who
seemed a respectable, quiet-mannered man--returned
to the ship, leaving Tom to enjoy a few
hours' pigeon-shooting along the sides of the
forest-clad mountain.

The birds were uttering their deep crooing
notes everywhere around him, as they fed upon
the scarlet berries of the lofty *maso'i* trees, and
the native lad who came with Tom as guide soon
had eight or nine brace of the fat, heavy birds to
carry.  Returning by the banks of a noisy
mountain stream, Tom threw himself down beside a
deep crystal pool to rest, whilst the lithe,
bronze-skinned native, whose only garment was a girdle
of grass, ascended a coco-nut tree for some young
drinking nuts.  The largest of these he quickly
husked with his sharp white teeth, and handed it
to Tom to drink.  As he drank he heard a
footstep near, and looking up he saw standing beside
him a man dressed in the habit of a priest.  He
saluted Tom politely, told him that he was Père
Serge, one of the two priests living on the
island, made a few inquiries about the Leonie,
frowned expressively when he heard the name of
Captain Hayes, but then said, cordially enough,
that he would be pleased if Tom would visit him.

.. _`'He saw a Man in the Dress of a Priest'`:

.. figure:: images/img-180.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: LOOKING UP, HE SAW A MAN DRESSED IN THE HABIT OF A PRIEST.

   LOOKING UP, HE SAW A MAN DRESSED IN THE HABIT OF A PRIEST.

'Thank you,' said Tom, 'I shall be very pleased
to come to-morrow, if the captain does not want
me on board.'

'But you surely are not a sailor, and an officer;
no, you cannot be, you are too young?' inquired
the priest in his clear English.

'I am a passenger, sir.'

The père held up his hands.  'A passenger with
such a captain, and on such a ship!  Ah! my poor
sir, you have fallen into bad hands, I fear;' and
then noticing the sudden flush on Tom's cheeks,
he added hurriedly, 'But never mind Captain
Hayes.  I shall be glad if you will come to me.
And at my mission, two miles from here, there are
many more pigeons than there are at Singavi, and
the waters of this little river here are full of very
nice fish.  You shall fish and shoot, and tell me
of your travels;' and he smiled as he held out his
hand.  'You will not forget to come?'

As soon as Tom returned on board he found the
captain, the old trader, and Mr. Kelly all seated
together on the quarter deck, drinking, smoking,
and chatting.  He was pleased to see that nearly
every one of the 'blackbirds' were also on deck,
devouring with great gusto baked pork, fish, taro,
and yams, which Hayes had bought for them from
the Singavi natives.  Great piles of young coco-nuts
were everywhere lying about the deck, mingled
with bunches of bananas, pineapples, and baskets of
sun-dried oranges--the latter being left untouched,
as the 'blackbirds,' never having seen an orange
before, would not eat them.  They were all talking,
and shouting, and eating at such a rate that Tom
was astonished; and his astonishment was increased
when he noticed that none of the brig's crew were
armed, and that the usual guard were up for'ard,
smoking and playing cards.

As he was washing his hands in the cabin,
Mr. Harvey, a young, hard-faced, silent man of about
thirty, with whom Tom seldom exchanged a word,
came below and sat down and began filling his pipe.

'What do you think of the happy-family party
on deck, Mr. Wallis?  I mean the woolly-haired,
black-toothed crowd.'

'Don't they seem jolly, Mr. Harvey?  And they
have the run of the deck, too.'

Harvey laughed in his quiet way.  'They're all
right.  Did you notice those two big iron pots with
fires lit under them, on shore, just outside the
trader's house?'

'Yes, I did.  Whaler's try-pots, aren't they?
What is boiling in them?'

Harvey nodded.  'Only water.  They belonged
to the Comboy, a New Bedford whaleship, which
went ashore here a good many years ago--before
you were born.  Well, about an hour ago the
skipper called our "blackbirds" together, and
solemnly told them that the pots are used by the
Fotuna natives to cook strangers in, and that fires
had been lighted under them in the hope that Hayes
would sell a few of his passengers every day to
make a feast.  It just scared the life out of them,
especially as an old French priest happened to pass
along the beach at that time, followed by a lot of
converts dressed in white sulus; Hayes pointed
him out to them, and said he was the principal
"devil doctor" who, with his gang of meat carvers,
had come down to the beach to see if there was
any meat ready.'

Tom laughed.  'It's funny; but do the "blackbirds"
believe it?'

'Rather.  And as long as we are at this island
we shall have no trouble with our cargo of niggers.
They think that they would be killed, cut up, put
into those pots, and eaten by the Fotuna natives in
a brace of shakes, if Hayes gets mad with them.
Oh, it's a mighty smart trick, and saves the hands
a lot of trouble.'

'But don't you think, Mr. Harvey, that it is
rather a mean sort of trick?  The Catholic priests
here have done a lot of good to the natives, and
redeemed them from their savage customs, have
they not?  Mr. Collier said that of them.'

Harvey laughed scornfully.  'I'm a "holy
Roman," lad--born and bred--but I've sailed the
South Seas for twenty years, and I know as much
about missionaries as any man, and I tell you
this--these French priests here have done a lot of
good, in many ways; and yet these Fotuna natives
are taught to believe that all white men who are
not Roman Catholics will be damned.'

'Are you sure, Mr. Harvey?'

'Sure!'--and the stern-faced young officer dashed
his clenched hand down upon the cabin table--'sure!
My boy, you will learn a lot before you get
back to your home again in Australia.  Wait till
we get to Samoa, and there you will see what the
Protestant missionaries have done, and what the
French priests have done, and you can size up
the work of both alongside, and draw your own
conclusions.  I am, as I said just now, a Roman
Catholic, but I know a lot about the way in which the
French priests "Christianize" the natives of these
islands, and I despise many of their ways.  They
have come to the South Seas under the protection
of the British flag, in British ships, following in
the wake of English missionaries who have done all
the hard graft, and then they teach their
converts to hate and despise everything that is
English and Protestant--from the pennant of an
admiral to the jibsheet-block of a British trading
schooner.'

'Poor Mr. Collier told me that the French
missionaries, although they cause a great deal of
trouble, are very good men, Mr. Harvey.'

'Good men!  Ay.  Guess they're good enough
in some ways.  They build their own churches and
live like the Kanakas themselves, and I allow they
don't go in for making dollars.  But they poison
the native mind against everything that is British
or American.  Why, three years ago, when I was
in Wallis Island, I went ashore to church, and the
priest there gave me a bundle of school primers
printed in Samoan, and asked me to spread 'em
around amongst the natives in the Tokelau Group,
on account of the pictures.'

'Pictures?'

'Ay, pictures--pictures that would just grip the
fancy of nine out of every ten Kanakas; pictures
showing how the cruel and wicked *lotu Peretania*
(Protestant faith) was sending people to hell;
pictures showing an English missionary chasing a
native woman--with thundering lies printed at the
foot; pictures showing Jesus Christ and the Virgin
Mary dressed in store clothes.'[#]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: left small

   [#] *Note by the author*.--This school primer of which Harvey speaks
   was actually circulated in the South Seas by the Roman Catholic
   missionaries.  It was printed in Marseilles, but other editions were
   issued from Sydney in 1866 or 1867.

.. vspace:: 2

'Oh, stop, Mr. Harvey, stop!  Don't speak like
that!  Don't laugh so mockingly when you name
our Saviour!'

'Mockingly, Tom?  No!  I'm a rough sailor, and
a fit man to be an officer for such a hell afloat as
the brig Leonie.  I'm as bad as any man can be
morally, but I am no mocker of sacred things.'

'I did not mean to hurt or offend you, Mr. Harvey.
And I know that you are neither a brute
nor a bully.'

The second mate placed his hand on Tom's
shoulder.

'I'm glad to hear you say that, Tom, and I wish
it was true.  But I was brought up in a rough
school--in the fo'c'sle of a New Bedford whaler--and
I guess I've been getting more and more of a
brute and a basher every day of my life.  My father
was an Irishman and a Roman Catholic, but didn't
care a cuss for the priest; my mother was not only
an Irishwoman and a holy Roman, but a bigoted
one as well, and taught me from the very first to
hate and despise the Protestants; and I hated and
despised them profusely until I went to sea in the
whaler, and found out that a Protestant was just as
good a sailor-man as any holy Roman.  But I was
going to tell you about those pictures.'

He laughed again, and his usually gloomy face
was so lit up, that Tom could not help smiling in
anticipation.

'These good, gentle priests,' continued Harvey,
'hate Englishmen and Americans like poison; they
cause more bloodshed and misery by their lies----  There,
that's all.  I'm off on deck for a smoke
before supper.'

Just after supper was over Maori Bill suggested
to Tom that they should ask the captain to let
them have one of the whaleboats, and go fishing
out in the deep water of the harbour.  Tom at
once went to Hayes, who was pacing the main
deck, talking to the old trader.

'Certainly,' he answered.  'I'd come with you
myself, but Ned and I are talking about business.
Take a couple of hands with you, and bring back
a load of fish.  You'll get some hundred-pounder
groper, and red rock-cod here.  Oh, Bill is going
with you, is he?  Tell him I want to see him for
a minute or two first.'

In a few minutes Tom had his fishing-gear
ready; the boat with two hands was brought
alongside, and Maori Bill, carrying a basket of young
coco-nuts in his hand, came up to the captain.

'Mr. Wallis told me you wanted to speak to me, sir.'

'Yes, Bill, I do.  It is only'--and here Hayes
spoke in his sauvest tones--'it is only to say that
you have done your duty as second mate to my
satisfaction.  But as Mr. Kelly is now well again,
and I have no need for you on board, I am going
to leave you here as a trader in place of old
Ned, who wants to make a trip to Samoa.'

The big half-caste placed his basket on the
deck, and looked at Hayes steadily.

'I don't want a trader's berth, Captain Hayes.
I came aboard here to look after young Mr. Wallis,
and do second mate's duty, until Mr. Kelly was
better.  That was the agreement you made with
Captain Hawkins.'

Hayes's face flushed deeply.  'Man! do you
know who you are talking to?'

'Yes, sir, to you.  And I'm willing to go for'ard
and do my duty as a seaman if you ask me, but I'm
not going to take a trader's berth ashore to please
you or anybody else.  My father was a white
man--as good as you.  I mean no disrespect to you,
sir.  But I'm not a Chileno or a Dutchman, and
won't be hazed by any man on God's earth!'

For a moment or so Hayes regarded the
half-caste steadily, then he said quietly--

'You're a bit of a fighting man, aren't you?'

'Yes, sir.  But that has nothing to do with my
going ashore here.'

'Put up your hands, you half-bred nigger!' and
Hayes strode up to Maori Bill with blazing eyes.
'I'll pound the life out of you in two minutes!'


.. _`'I'll pound the Life out of you'`:

.. figure:: images/img-189.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: 'PUT UP YOUR HANDS, YOU HALF-BRED NIGGER!'

   'PUT UP YOUR HANDS, YOU HALF-BRED NIGGER!'


'No, you won't, captain!' and Kelly, the chief
mate, sprang in front of him, and put the muzzle
of a Colt's revolver against Maori Bill's chest.  'We
can't afford to hev no trouble.'

In an instant the Maori seized the weapon by
the barrel, wrenched it from Kelly's hand, and
threw it overboard, then lifting the mate up
in his arms, he dashed him down upon the deck,
where he lay stunned.

The second mate and carpenter both made a
rush at the half-caste, but Hayes was before them.

'Keep back, Harvey! keep back, carpenter!
Let me deal with him.  Now, Mr. Maori Bill, I'll
teach you a lesson that will last you for a month
of Sundays!' and launching out his left hand with
lightning-like rapidity, he seized the Maori by the
throat, and in a moment the two men were
struggling madly on the deck.

But the half-caste, whose herculean stature and
prodigious strength made him a match for Hayes,
quickly freed himself from the captain's grip, and
then dealt him such a smashing blow over the
temple with his right hand, that Hayes staggered,
and would have fallen but for Mr. Harvey.  The
Maori stepped back and waited, his dark face pale
with fury, and his teeth set hard.

'That's a bit of a staggerer,' said Hayes, quietly,
as he put his handkerchief to his face.  'You're a
good man, Mr. Maori Bill; but wait a minute.'

The half-caste folded his arms across his chest.
'I do not want to fight you, Captain Hayes,
although you have called me a half-bred nigger.
But the white blood in me is as good as yours,
and the mate put a pistol to my chest.  Let me
alone--this sort of work don't suit me.'

'But it *shall* suit you!  I'll pound you first, Bill,
then I'll make you useful.  You've as good as killed
Mr. Kelly, and maybe I'll want you as second mate
again.  Stand back there, Mr. Harvey.'

'Stand back yourself, sir!' cried the Maori,
passionately.  'I am a dangerous man.  If I hit you
again I will kill you!'

Hayes laughed contemptuously, and in another
instant the two were at it again, fighting with such
silent ferocity that even the savage natives
surrounding them drew back in terror.  But Hayes
was at a disadvantage, for he could scarcely see;
and presently the Maori struck him a terrific blow
on the chin, which sent him reeling across the
deck, and ended the fight.  And then two or three
Chilenos and the carpenter sprang upon the
half-caste and bore him down, some of them striking
him repeatedly in the face.  But once again he
freed himself, rose to his feet, and sent one of his
Chileno assailants down with a broken jaw; then
Harvey dealt him a fearful blow on the top of
his head with an iron belaying-pin, and stunned him.

'Ah! you coward!' and Tom sprang at the
second mate with clenched hands.  'You coward,
Mr. Harvey!  You have killed him!' and then he
knelt down and looked into Bill's face.

Harvey laughed sullenly.  'He had to be settled
one way or another.'

Ten minutes later, when the half-caste regained
consciousness, he found himself in irons in the
for'ard deckhouse, and Tom seated beside him,
bathing his head with cold water.

'Bill,' said Tom, taking his hand, 'we must leave
this ship.'

The Maori turned his bloodshot eyes on Tom
for a moment or two.

'I am quite ready to leave her, sir; but I doubt
if I can get away now,' and he held up his
manacled hands.

'I won't go without you, Bill.  And as for the
handcuffs, I can set you free at any moment.  I
know where I can put my hand on half a dozen
keys in the cabin.  But first I shall tell the captain
I am leaving the ship.'

Bill protested vigorously at this suggestion.
Hayes, he said, was so unreliable and changeful,
that it would be folly to tempt him to another
burst of temper.  'I know more of him than you
do,' he added; 'he will never forgive me, and will
make my life a hell to me unless I bend to him.'

Tom thought a moment.  He did not like the
idea of leaving the Leonie in a surreptitious
manner, but leave her he would, for Hayes's
treatment of Maori Bill he regarded as wrong and
cruel.

'Very well, Bill,' he said, 'I shall say nothing;
but I don't like sneaking away.'

'He won't let you go over the side if you tell
him--you'll only rouse all the devil in him again,--and
we'll be all right here, Mr. Wallis, on this
island, once we get ashore.  I speak Samoan well,
and these people understand it.  We can live here
very comfortably until a whaleship or trading
schooner comes along.'

The two conversed for a few minutes longer, and
agreed to get ashore that night, either swimming
or in a chance canoe.  Then Tom rose to go aft
again, get some supper, and make such preparations
as he could, and then return with a key to
unlock the handcuffs.

It was now becoming dark, and just as Tom
stepped out on to the deck Hayes met him.  His
head was bound up, and the moment he spoke
Tom knew that he was in a white heat of passion.

'What are you doing here?' he demanded
hoarsely.

'I was speaking to Mr. Chester, sir.'

Hayes laughed cynically.  'I'll "mister" him,
the yellow-hided soldier!  Here, boatswain, bring
a light, and tell Jules to come here with his green
bag.'

A light was produced, and Hayes, attended by
the boatswain and the negro Jules, went inside
the house.  Tom followed, burning with indignation,
and determined to prevent the unfortunate
Maori from being flogged.

'Take his irons off,' said the captain, speaking
in the same low but savage tone he had used
when addressing Tom.

The handcuffs were unlocked, the leg-shackles
removed, and the prisoner stood up.

'Now, Bill,' said Hayes, 'I'm not going to
round on you for hitting me in fair fight, but
you've nearly murdered the mate.'

'You can stow all that, sir.  I don't believe you.'

The captain apparently did not heed the interruption.

'And now I've come to talk to you a bit.  Will
you go ashore here and trade for me?'

'No, I won't.  I am willing to go to Samoa
and do second mate's duty as I did before, but I
am not going to be separated from Mr. Wallis.  I
have my orders from Captain Hawkins.'

'Very well'--and then he gave vent to his
suppressed fury--'if you won't do as I want you,
I'll give you a flogging, and chuck you over the
side to drown, you mutinous Maori dog!  Either
that, or turn-to again.'

'For my sake, Captain Hayes, think of what
you are doing!  Surely you won't flog a man
because he beat you, as you say yourself, in fair
fight?  No *man* would do such a thing.'

The Maori's right hand gripped Tom by the
wrist, and he uttered a low warning, 'Sh!  Not a
word more.  I'll fool him.'

Hayes turned furiously upon Tom.  'Away out
of this, boy, and do not meddle with matters
which do not concern you!'

'But this *does* concern me, sir?' began Tom,
when Bill interrupted him.

'I'll give in, captain.  I'll do whatever you
want, but I don't like leaving Mr. Wallis.  And
I'm willing to turn-to again this minute.  Come,
captain, I'm a good sailor-man.'

Hayes's mood changed instantly.  'Very well,
Bill, we won't quarrel.  But we'll have another
talk in the morning.  Perhaps I'll keep you on
board.  Jules, clear out.  What are you hanging
about here for?  Go aft and tell the steward to
get Mr. Chester some supper.  Tom, I'm going
ashore.  Do you care to come?'

'No, thank you,' said Tom, bluntly, 'I'll stay
and get some supper too.'

Hayes smiled good-naturedly.  'Oh, well, just
as you please.  Bill, did I hurt you at all?'

Bill tried to look pleased.  'Nearly broke one
of my ribs, sir.'

Half an hour later Hayes, old Ned the trader,
and the carpenter were on their way ashore, and
Tom and the half-caste were having supper and
talking in low, whispered tones.

'He will not be back before midnight,' whispered
Bill, 'I heard him say so.  We can easily get
away.  The whaleboat is astern.  Get as many
things as you can, and put them on the transom
here.  The mate is in his own bunk, and there is
no one to see you.  I'll slip overboard at eight
o'clock, and bring the boat up under the port.
There is a strong breeze, and the night is very
dark.  We can manage it.  I have five English
sovereigns.  Have you any money?'

Tom nodded.  'Fifteen.  Captain Hawkins lent
them to me.'

The Maori's hand gripped his shoulder.  'That
will do us.  Charlie, the white sailor, is on watch
aft.  Go up to him and give him ten sovereigns;
don't say anything--just put them in his hand and
come away; he'll most likely come with us.  And
I'll give the steward another, to go for'ard and
keep out of the way.'

An hour after supper the whaleboat, which was
lying astern, seemed to drift right up under the
stern ports.  She remained stationary for a minute
or two, then veered away again, and was lost in
the darkness, drifting steadily out to sea before
the strong trade wind.

But as the lofty spars of the Leonie became
indistinct, and the lights of the native houses on shore
grew dimmer and dimmer, Maori Bill sprang to
his feet with a laugh, and he and Charlie hoisted
the sail.

It's all right, Mr. Wallis.  We have a rattling
good boat, plenty of food and arms, but only a
little water.  We'll have to get some at Alofi.  I
know where we can land at daylight and get all
we want.  And I and Charlie have given Captain
Hayes something to do that will keep him from
coming after us.'

'What have you done, Bill?'

The Maori grinned at him through the darkness,
as he stood at the long steer-oar.

'We've made a couple of holes into the brig, one
for'ard and one aft, and it'll take some time to find
'em out.  She'll have four feet of water into her
before the skipper comes aboard again.  And
Charlie here gave the hands a gallon of rum to
keep 'em amused.  I'd have set fire to her only
for that.'

'But she may founder, and drown some of the
people!' cried Tom.

'Don't be alarmed about that, Mr. Wallis.  No
one will be drowned.  Even if she fills before the
holes are discovered, she can't sink, for there's only
six or eight feet of water between her keel and
the bottom--she'll take the ground nice and easy.'

Then he struck a match and lit his pipe, and as
he puffed out the first whiffs of smoke he turned
and shook his fist at the vanishing land.

'Good-bye to you, Mr. Bully Hayes.  I feel a
bit better now than I did an hour ago.  I'm even
with you, anyway.  Mr. Wallis, you lie down and
sleep.  We shall call you when we are running
into the fresh-water river at Alofi.'

'And after, Bill?'

'For Fiji, I think, sir.  We can run down there
in two days easily.  Plenty of ships there, sir, an'
we'll be in Australia in another month or two.'

Exhausted and excited with the events of the
past few hours, Tom lay down in the stern sheets,
and the whaleboat leapt and spun along in the
darkness towards the scarcely discernible outline
of Alofi Island.





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.. _`JACK AND HIS FATHER HEAR GOOD NEWS`:

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   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center medium

   JACK AND HIS FATHER HEAR GOOD NEWS

.. vspace:: 2

Nearly eight months had come and gone
since the captain of the Bandolier had
left Port Kooringa, and in the quaint,
old-fashioned dining-room of the house under the
bluff Jack and his father were sitting--Mr. Wallis
smoking his pipe and thinking, and Jack cleaning
his gun.  It was nearly sunset, and presently Kate
Gorman entered.

'Shall yez have the lamps lit, sor?'

'Yes, Kate; and then bring the little one to
say good night.  I am expecting my letters
presently, and will say good night to her now.'

'Shure, sor, but ould Foster tuk her out on the
brow of the hill to see the stheamer comin' in, and
he's not brought her back yet.  He's a terrible
conthrary man, he is, and would sphoil any child.'

Mr. Wallis smiled in his grave way, as he rose
and went to the door leading out upon the verandah.

'You are just as bad as he is, Kate.  And you,
Jack, are worse than either.  Between you all Nita
*is* being spoilt.'

'And you, father, are *the* very worst of all,' said
Jack, laying down his gun, and putting his
sun-burnt hand on his father's shoulder.  'Why, old
Foster knows it as well as Kate and I do.'

As Kate lit the lamp, father and son stepped
out on the broad verandah, and paced to and fro
together, as they had done almost every evening
since Tom had been taken from their life.  Much
as they had grown to love the dark-eyed child
who had come to them at that dreadful time, their
thoughts were now, as they had always been, with
the memories of the happier past, when Tom was
with them, and his merry, boyish tones were
sounding in their ears as he disputed with old
Foster or argued with faithful Kate.

Just as Wellington, the black stockman, came
cantering up to the gate with the letters and
papers, old Foster and little Nita Casalle came
up from the beach.  The old man had taken her
down to the wharf to see the William the Fourth
come in, and, instead of her usual joyous prattle
when she was with Foster, she entered the house
silently, and with the traces of tears on her
face.

'What is the matter, Nita?' said Jack, bending
down and kissing her.

A suppressed sob escaped from her.  'I saw a
man, Jack--I saw a man who looked so like my
father that I *had* to cry.'

'Indeed she did, sir,' said Foster to Mr. Wallis.
'He was one of the steerage passengers on board
the steamer, and I must say he's mortal like Miss
Nita's father.'

Mr. Wallis, who had just looked at his letters,
lifted Nita up in his arms.

'Poor little woman!  But here's something to dry
your tears.  Here's another letter from your father.
Come inside, Foster; come in, Jack.  I have quite
a budget of letters here, but we'll read Captain
Casalle's first.  Nita, you shall stay up an hour
later to-night, and hear all about father and the
new ship, and the Solomon Islands.'

Returning to the dining-room, Mr. Wallis drew
his chair up to the table, and with Nita on one
side and Jack on the other, first opened Captain
Casalle's letter, without looking at the others.
He read the letter aloud, omitting those parts
which dealt with business matters.  It was written
from Levuka, in Fiji, where Casalle had arrived
three months previously, after a very prosperous
trading voyage among the Solomon Islands.  He
was delighted with his new vessel, which was a
barquentine of 200 tons, called the Malolo.  'She
is,' he wrote, 'the fastest vessel of her size in the
South Seas, and even Bully Hayes's Leonie, of
which I have often told you, could not catch her.
Speaking about Hayes, I have just heard from
Captain Harding, the master of a trading schooner,
the Lilla, which has just arrived here from Samoa,
that the redoubtable Bully nearly lost his ship a
few months ago coming from New Britain, when
his cargo of blackbirds nearly captured her.  There
was some terrible fighting, and about a hundred
of the natives were killed, as well as some of
Hayes's people.  During the fighting she also took
or was set on fire, and only for another vessel
(said to be a Sydney brig) coming to her
assistance, the niggers would have massacred every one
of the crew.  After this Hayes touched at Fotuna
Island for provisions, and while there fell foul of
one of his officers, a New Zealand half-caste, who
seems to have been lent to him by the captain of
the Sydney brig, and was about to flog him; but
in the night this man, with a white sailor, and a
young lad who was a passenger (on the Leonie, I
suppose) escaped in one of the boats, after
scuttling the brig in two places.  Bully had, I
believe, a very tough time to keep her afloat.
However, he managed to get away all right, and
the Lilla met him thrashing through the straits
between Upolu and Savaii in gallant style.  He
sent a boat aboard the Lilla to inquire what ships
were in Apia Harbour, and it was from the officer
in charge of the boat that my informant gained
these particulars.  As soon as Harding told him
that the British cruiser Cameleon was at anchor
in Apia, the officer hurried back mighty quick to
the Leonie, which at once wore, and went scurrying
away under the lee of Savaii.  I am afraid that
poor Bully will find his voyage unprofitable,
especially if the cruiser should catch him.'

Jack's eyes sparkled.  'What an exciting bit of
sea life, father!'  Then he added in a softer tone,
'How poor Tom would have loved to have heard all this!'

The letter went on to say that the Malolo
would, after refitting, make another cruise to the
Solomons, and load there for Sydney.  'So you
see, my dear Wallis,' the writer concluded, 'that,
everything going well, I shall see you all in about
five months from now, and show you my white-winged Malolo.'

Mr. Wallis looked at the date of the letter; it
had been written nearly four months previously.

'Why, Nita, little one, 'tis only another month
from now!  Jack, my lad, we will all go up to
Sydney on this very trip of the William the
Fourth.  Just write a note to the captain, and find
out when he is leaving Port Kooringa.'

Just as Jack was setting about his pleasant
task, and his father had placed his hand upon the
remaining letters, a knock sounded at the front door.

'Some one from the steamer, most likely, father.
Perhaps it is the captain himself.'

Foster came to the door.  'Some one to see you,
sir, on most partickler business, so he says.  I
told him you was busy, but he says he must see
you at once, sir.'

'Who is he, Foster?'

Foster placed his hand over his mouth, and
looked curiously at Nita.  'It's that person, sir,
who I was telling you that Miss Nita mistook for
Captain Cashall.'

'Show him in.'

The moment the visitor entered the room, both
Mr. Wallis and Jack arose with half-uttered
exclamations of astonishment.  The face of the man
before them certainly bore an extraordinary
resemblance to Nita's father.  He was dressed in a
rough but decent manner, and for a moment or
two seemed slightly bewildered.

'Sit down, sir,' said Mr. Wallis, kindly.

But, instead of seating himself, the man came
forward and held out his hand.

'Mr. Wallis, I have good--good news for you.'  His
voice shook a little, then he steadied himself.
'Your son Tom is alive.  Have you not had a
letter from him?'

'For goodness' sake, man, speak!  Tell me all.
Where is he?'  And Tom's father seized the man
by the shoulders, and looked wildly into his face.

'I repeat that he is alive.  I last saw him on
board a brig named the Lady Alicia at Wreck
Reef.  Here, sir, is a letter from him which will
explain all.'  And he gave Mr. Wallis the letter
which Tom had written from Wreck Reef.

Seizing the envelope with trembling hand, Tom's
father tore it open.  There were two enclosures--Tom's
own note, and honest old Sam's fancifully
worded communication; and as he read them
through a sob of joy broke from his bosom, as
with streaming eyes he put them into Jack's
eager hand.  Then restraining himself from further
emotion by a strong effort, he tried to speak, but
could not frame a word, but there was a whole
world of inquiry as he pointed mutely to the letters.

'I will tell you all I know, sir.  The letter, as
you see, was written from Wreck Reef.  I and--and
some shipwrecked companions were there,
when for some reason the Lady Alicia came in
and anchored.  The captain told me that many
weeks previously he had picked up a lad who was
lying all but dead on the beach, but was now
recovered.  I saw him, sir.  He looked well,
strong, and happy.'

'Thank God, thank God!' at last burst from
Mr. Wallis, as, hardly knowing what he was doing,
he wrung the seaman's hand again and again;
and then Jack, upsetting the astonished and
alarmed Nita, made a spring to the door, and tore
through the hall in search of the servants,
shouting their names at the top of his voice.

'Foster, Foster, come here!  Kate, come here!
Where are you all?  Where's everybody?  Tom
is alive!  Tom is alive!  We've had a letter!'  Then
back he darted into the dining-room to pick
up and hug Nita.

In a moment the house was thrown into the
wildest confusion, as the women-servants, the
stockmen, who were sitting smoking in the kitchen,
old Foster, Wellington, and red-haired Kate,
came rushing pell-mell into the dining-room,
attended by a dozen or so of barking and yelping
kangaroo dogs; the whole lot, dogs and humans,
all tumbling over each other in a glorious heap on
the carpet, and seriously endangering the house
by partially capsizing the lamp.

As soon as he could make himself heard, their
master told them the news, and old Foster led off
with a cheer; then, by main strength and
persuasion combined, he and Kate sent them out
again.

'Forgive me, sir,' said Mr. Wallis, as soon as
order was restored.  'But you will indeed think
me an inhospitable man.  Foster----'

Foster was back in a miraculously short time
with a tray holding wines and spirits, and Kate,
unasked, hurriedly began to lay the dining-table,
copiously damping the cloth with her tears, and
shaking with joyful excitement as she banged
about and misplaced every article.

The stranger, whose quiet eyes were bent in
sympathy on Mr. Wallis's face, rose, and took the
glass of brandy-and-water which Jack had poured
out for him.  Mr. Wallis raised his own, and the
two men drank to each other in silence.  Then,
as they resumed their seats, Jack's father, whose
face seemed to have grown ten years younger in
as many minutes, said--

'You have brought joy and happiness to me
and mine, and yet I have not asked your name.'

A swift shadow passed over the visitor's
countenance, but he answered quietly--

'I call myself Charles Brown; that is not my
real name, which I have only uttered once in the
past five years, and that was when I gave it to
the master of the brig which rescued your son.  But
I will not conceal it from you.  My name is
Henry Casalle.'

Both father and son started.

'Casalle!'

The man smiled bitterly.  'Ah, you know it.
Yes, I am Henry Casalle, who, with four other
prisoners, escaped from New Caledonia to Wreck
Reef.  I suppose the police are looking for me?'

In an instant Mr. Wallis was on his feet, closed
the door, and turned the key.  The man watched
him with the utmost calmness.

.. _`'Mr. Wallis turned the Key'`:

.. figure:: images/img-208.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: IN AN INSTANT MR. WALLIS WAS ON HIS FEET, CLOSED THE DOOR, AND TURNED THE KEY.

   IN AN INSTANT MR. WALLIS WAS ON HIS FEET, CLOSED THE DOOR, AND TURNED THE KEY.

'You ask me,' said Mr. Wallis in a low voice, 'if
I know the name of Casalle.'  He placed his
hand on the visitor's shoulder.  'I do know it.
That little girl there is the daughter of a man who
has become a dear friend of mine.  His name is
Ramon Casalle.'

The stranger's swarthy face paled visibly, and
his lips twitched.

'I had a brother Ramon.  I have never seen
him since we were children together.  Where
is he?'

'At sea; but he will be in Sydney in a month.
He told me he had never seen you since you were
a boy of eight.'

The ex-convict passed his hand across his brow,
as if trying to recall the past; then looking at the
little girl, who was regarding him intently with her
lustrous dark eyes, he said almost in a whisper--

'Will she come to me?  She is my brother's
child, and has our mother's face.'

Jack led Nita over to him.  Casalle took her
little hand in his for a moment, drew her gently to
him, and kissed her.  Then he leant back in his
chair, and covered his face with his hands.

When he had recovered himself a little, and Jack
had taken Nita away to Kate, Mr. Wallis, as
clearly and briefly as possible, told him the story
of the wreck of the Bandolier, and all that had
happened since.

Casalle heard him with the deepest interest to
the end, and then told him his own story, beginning
with the account of his trial and conviction
at Bordeaux, and the horrors of his prison life at
Noumea.  Here he broke down, and Mr. Wallis
placed his kindly hand on his knee.

'Tell me no more, Casalle.  It pains you to tell,
and me to hear it.  That you are an innocent man
I believe.'

'As God is above us I am!  The captain and I
did not get on well together, and one day in a
moment of passion I forgot myself under his
repeated insults, and threatened his life.  He was
a gross tyrant, his chief mate almost as bad, and
the crew were later on goaded into mutiny.  I
was asleep in my bunk when both captain and
mate were stunned and tossed overboard.  The
ship was then within sight of the coast of Portugal,
and the mutineers, headed by the steward, took to
the boats and made for the land, leaving me alone
on board.  A few hours later I was in irons on a
Spanish man-of-war.  I was sent to Bordeaux, and
the very men whom I had often endeavoured to
save from brutal ill-usage swore my life away.'

'Forget it all, Casalle, forget it all, or think of it
only as some bad dream.  You are safe here with
me.  To-morrow we will decide what is best to be
done.'

In calmer tones the ex-convict then related his
adventures and wanderings after leaving Wreck
Reef.  He and his companions had followed old
Sam Hawkins's instructions, and had safely reached
the Queensland coast, where they separated, three
making for the Port Curtis goldfield, and Casalle
and another shipping as seamen on a vessel bound
to Port Adelaide, in South Australia.  From
Adelaide he had steadily worked his way
northward again to Sydney, and there made inquiries
as to the best way of sending a letter to Port
Kooringa.  He found that the William the Fourth
was leaving in a few days, and decided to bring the
letter on to Mr. Wallis himself.

'I swore that you should have the letter safely,'
he added, 'and there were no means of sending it
to you from Port Curtis.'

'Come, father,' said Jack, 'Kate is waiting to bring
in dinner.  Then we must go through the papers
which have come, and see if there is anything about
the Virago, or the Lady Alicia.  Perhaps they are
both in Sydney Harbour this very moment, dad, and
Tom might have only just missed the William the
Fourth.'

Such a happy evening had not been spent in the
old house for many a long month.  Jack, too
excited to eat any dinner, set to work on the
papers at once, but could find no mention of
either Lady Alicia or the Virago, beyond the
fact that both were in the list of 'expected
arrivals.'

'Never mind, Jack,' said his father cheerfully,
'the latest of those papers is a week old, and Tom
is on board one or the other ship.  Casalle, my
dear fellow, to-night you shall sleep in the room
that your brother slept in when he first came to
us with little Nita.'





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.. _`HENRY CASALLE ALSO HEARS GOOD NEWS`:

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   CHAPTER XII


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   HENRY CASALLE ALSO HEARS GOOD NEWS

.. vspace:: 2

No one slept much that night in that happy
household, for the news of Tom's escape
had spread like wildfire among the
townspeople of the quaint old port, and until
long past midnight there were many callers, some
coming on foot and some on horseback.  Most of
them were men and women who had known Tom
since his infancy, and who had felt a deep and
sincere sympathy for his father in the time of his
affliction.  And all were welcome.

Mr. Wallis, being a shrewd man, was at first
rather concerned that the servants had already
made it known that their visitor was a brother
of Captain Casalle; but it was now too late to
remedy the matter.  On second thoughts, however,
he felt sure that there was no danger to his guest
at Port Kooringa, the people of which hardly knew
that there was such a place as New Caledonia, and
that sometimes convicts escaped from there to
Australia.  In Sydney, there would be some danger
of Henry Casalle being recognized and recaptured,
and sent back to a life of misery.  This, however,
was a matter to which he would attend; and indeed
he had already outlined his plans to his guest.

It was nearly dawn before the last of the visitors
had left, and then Mr. Wallis, his son, and Henry
Casalle went out upon the verandah facing the sea,
and had a quiet talk.

Cheerfully as he had spoken to Jack at dinner
about the surety of Tom's return, Mr. Wallis
was secretly anxious.  As far as he could glean
from the letter brought by Casalle, the Lady
Alicia was returning to Sydney as soon as she had
discharged her cargo at Noumea, but there was
a possibility of Tom obtaining an earlier passage
to Australia by the Virago.  But the Lady Alicia
should have been back in Sydney two months
ago!  What could have happened to her? he thought.

He decided to go to Sydney as quickly as
possible, and announced his determination to Jack
and Henry Casalle.

'We shall go to Sydney, Mr. Casalle--you, Jack,
Nita, and I--and wait for your brother and the
Malolo, and Tom and the Lady Alicia.  I could
not bear to remain here in suspense.  The William
the Fourth leaves to-night at six.  Let us make
our preparations at once.'

That evening, as the old Puffing Billy, as she
was nicknamed, floundered and gasped and rolled
sponsons under against the sweeping seas of the
bar, and her long thin funnel sent up clouds of
black smoke, Jack, his father, and Casalle waved
their hands in farewell to old Foster and Kate,
who, with the rest of the servants, were standing on
the bluff to watch the steamer pass out.  Little
Nita was below with her maid--one of the
stockmen's daughters.

Early one morning, after a tedious passage of
nine days along the coast, Jack came on deck, and
saw right ahead the bold outline of the North
Head of Sydney, and in another hour the little
steamer, which always seemed to be at her last
gasp when there was the least sea on, groaned
her way through the noble entrance into fair
Sydney Harbour.  The captain, a rough old sea
dog, something after the style of old Sam Hawkins,
beckoned to Jack to come up on the bridge, where
he was soon joined by his father, both being
anxious to see what men-of-war were lying in
Farm Cove.

In half an hour they were abreast of the Cove,
which lay embosomed in the vivid green of the
loveliest gardens in the southern hemisphere, and
presently Jack uttered a shout as several men-of-war
were seen--one of which was a paddle-wheel
barque-rigged steamer.

'That's the Virago, father.  I've seen her twice
passing Port Kooringa.'

'Ay, ay, that's her, Mr. Wallis,' said the captain.
'She ain't much to look at, neither.  If I was to
give the old Billy's funnel a coat o' yellow wash,
she'd be just as good-looking.'

Hailing a passing schooner, the captain inquired
how long the Virago had been in port.

'Three days about.'

'Has the Lady Alicia arrived?'

The master of the schooner shook his head.

'Haven't heard of her, and haven't seen her.
She always lies at Cuthbert's slip up here in
Darling Harbour.  She's expected, I know.'

'Well, we shall soon know if Tom came in the
Virago, anyway,' said Mr. Wallis, as the William
the Fourth rounded Miller's Point, and headed
for her wharf; 'we'll drive to Biffen and Chard's
as quick as a hansom can take us.'

As soon as the steamer was made fast,
Mr. Wallis told Casalle--who had made some very
judicious changes in his personal appearance,
changes which made him appear ten or a dozen
years younger--to go to Petty's Hotel and await
him there; and then he and Tom jumped into a
hansom and drove to his agent's office in Pitt
Street.

The moment he gave his name to one of the
clerks, a big, stout man with a round red face,
merged into one vast smile, rushed out of an
office marked 'private' and seizing his hand,
wrung it with such vigour that Mr. Wallis fairly
winced.

'My dear Mr. Wallis,' he said, almost dragging
his visitor into his room, 'what a happy meeting!
I've glorious, glorious news for you!  Your son
Tom----'

'I know, my dear Biffen.  Tom is alive.  Is he here?'

The big man gasped in astonishment.  'Here!
No, of course he's not here; but how did you----'

'I know that he was picked up by the Lady
Alicia, and he sent me a letter *viâ* Queensland,
saying that it was possible he might get a passage
to Sydney in the Virago from Noumea.'

'Well, the Virago has arrived, and has brought
you another letter from him.  Here it is; but
before you read it let me tell you that the first
lieutenant brought it here himself.  He told me
that your boy was looking splendid.  You must
go and see him.'

Mr. Wallis nodded.  'Of course I shall, at once.
Now let me see what Tom says.'

Mr. Biffen went and left Jack and his father
together.

This letter of Tom's was a very much longer
one than that from Wreck Reef, and gave a
detailed account of his adventures, from the time
he lit the fire on Misty Head to his arrival at
Noumea.  'I do so hope,' he went on to say,
'that the letter I sent you from Wreck Reef has
long since reached you.  The person to whom it
was given pledged his solemn word of honour to
Captain Hawkins that it would reach you safely.
There is no harm now in my telling you that he
and his companions were escaped convicts from
New Caledonia.  I often think of them, and
wonder if they reached the mainland without
much hardship.  I do really love old Captain
Hawkins for being so good to those poor wretches,
and when you meet him I am sure you will like
him too, and so will Jack.  Dear old Jack, with
his solemn old face!  Oh, how I wish I could see
into the room at Port Kooringa--that is, if you
have received my letter from Wreck Reef, for
then I know you would feel happy, and would
perhaps be talking about me.  Sometimes, after
I began to get better, I would think so much of
you by day, and dream of you all at night, that
I could not stand it, and would sneak out of the
cabin, and go up into the fore-top, where I could
have a quiet blubber to myself.

'Mr. Collier, the chief mate, is just as kind to
me as Captain Hawkins.  He is a very religious
man, and such a gentleman, and Captain Hawkins
says that a better seaman never trod a deck.  We
often have long talks, for I always stand out the
watch with him.  The captain himself is the
dearest old fellow in the world.  Sometimes he
swears horribly at the men, and threatens them with
the most awful punishments, and they only wink at
each other, and don't take the least notice of him,
for he has the kindest heart of any man living.
He is so proud of his ship, and of the way in
which he dresses when he goes ashore--top-hat,
frock-coat, gloves, walking-stick, and a
watch-chain like a chain cable.  This morning he has
gone to call on the Governor, and he was half an
hour deciding whether he would wear a green
satin tie or a scarlet one, with a tiger's claw for a
pin.  He called Mr. Collier and me into his cabin
to decide for him.  We said green.  It makes such
a contrast to his fiery red face and white hair.
'There is a Maori half-caste on board named
Chester.  He and I are great friends.  Captain
Hawkins says that he (Chester) could be
hobnobbing with dukes and duchesses in London if he
had a mind to, as he can knock out any "pug."
in the world in four rounds.  Mr. Collier is
teaching me navigation.  I quite forgot to mention
that the man who took my letter from Wreck
Reef looked just like that shipwrecked captain
who came to Port Kooringa that day.  I often
wonder what became of him and all his men, and
whether that poor little girl lived or died.  She
looked just like a starved monkey.  But I shall
hear all about it when I come back.  I am not
very sorry that the Virago is not returning to
Sydney before the Lady Alicia, as, although
Captain Byng would give me a passage, I would
rather stay with Captain Hawkins.  Now
good-bye for the present.'

The next portion was written very hurriedly:--'My
dear father and Jack.  Such news!  The
Governor has chartered the Lady Alicia to go in
search of a missing French transport--the Marengo.
We are to search the islands to the northward,
and leave as quickly as possible.  Of course I am
very sorry that it will now be perhaps four or five
months more before I see you; but you will know
that I am all right, and of course I feel very
excited at going on such a cruise.  Captain Hawkins,
too, is very pleased, and I believe will make a lot
of money out of it.  He has such a funny way of
making long speeches and never stopping for a
second, so that you never *can* understand what he
means.  About an hour ago he called the hands aft
and said, "My lads me and this ship has the honour
of being employed by the Governor of this Colony
to institoot a search for a missing ship whose
whereabouts is secluded in mystery you stand by
me and do your dooty like men and preserve
decority inasmuch as there is a naval officer
coming aboard and if I see any man spitting on
the deck or smoking at the wheel he will get such
a lift under the ear that his own mother won't
know him again and if we find this ship I will
give every one of you a five-pound note so go
for'ard again and study out this revelation."

'And now, my dear father, good-bye!  You
will not hear from me again until you see me
come tearing up over the hill from the town.
Give my love to Foster, and Kate, and Mrs. Potter,
and Wellington, and all the hands.  I
hope poor Peter was not burnt up in that awful
fire.  When I last saw him he was running up
and down on the beach, with the reins hanging
down, looking for me.  And please tell old Foster
that the Lady Alicia has single rolling topsails
like Uncle Hemsley's brig in the picture over the
mantel, and also tell him that I can furl the fore
royal by myself; Captain Hawkins says I manage
it "with mendicity and ability not to be aversed
or commented on by the most improper mind."  Oh,
I shall have such a lot of things to tell you
about him, and the extraordinary words he uses!

'The other day, one of our native sailors met
with a rather bad accident--smashed his big
toe--and Captain Hawkins made me write a note to
the doctor of the Virago, asking him to come on
board, as one of his men "was suffering from a
fragmentary pediment which was in a state of
collusion and might suborn tettans or some
corresponding aliment."  Good-bye once more, dear dad!'

Intensely disappointed as he was at the
prospect of Tom not returning for so many months,
Mr. Wallis could not help laughing at his
description of old Sam.  Presently Mr. Biffen returned,
and Mr. Wallis read the letter to him.

'Well, your boy is in good hands, Wallis.  Old
Hawkins is a sterling old fellow, in spite of his
many absurdities, and if the lad has any inclination
for a sea life he could not be with a better
man.  Oh, by the way, you received a letter from
Casalle, didn't you?  I sent one on to you.'

'Yes; and as he told me he expected to be in
Sydney in a month after it reached me, I mean
to wait here for him.  I have brought his little
girl up with me.  Possibly the Lady Alicia may
soon follow.  Anyway, I shall of course wait for
her arrival as well.'

'Why not go on board the Virago and see
Captain Byng?  He can give you a good idea of
how long the Lady Alicia is likely to be.  I'm
sure that both he and the first lieutenant will be
delighted to see you; they'll have a lot to tell
you about Tom.'

Thanking Mr. Biffen, and promising to call
again later on in the day, Mr. Wallis and Jack
rose.

'Casalle tells me in his letter to me that the
Malolo is a heeler,' said the merchant (he and
his partner had transacted the business of buying
her for Captain Casalle), 'and that he expects to
repay you about thirteen hundred pounds after
selling his cargo.'

Mr. Wallis smiled pleasantly and shook hands
with his agent.  'I'm glad he likes his new ship,
Biffen.  He is a good fellow, I'm sure.'  The
repayment of thirteen hundred pounds was a matter
of no moment to him at such a time, when his
thoughts were full of Tom.

Driving up to Petty's Hotel, he and Jack lunched
with Henry Casalle and little Nita, and then father
and son walked down to the Circular Quay and
took a waterman's boat for the Virago.

Captain Byng happened to be on board, and
greeted them most warmly, answered all their
inquiries about Tom, told them all he knew of the
mission on which the Lady Alicia had been sent,
and said that he certainly thought she should be
in Sydney in a few weeks, whether she had
discovered the Marengo or not.  Then followed a long
talk, in the course of which Mr. Wallis mentioned the
fact of his having received a letter from Tom by a
somewhat unusual source.  'It was written at Wreck
Reef,' he said, 'but only reached me ten days ago.'

The naval officer's face lit up.  'Of course, of
course, I know all about it.  That amusing old
fellow, Hawkins, as well as Tom, gave me an
account of the party of gentlemen they met there;
and now I've something interesting to tell you.
But tell me, do you know where to find the poor
fellow who was their leader?'

'He is here in Sydney--with me.  I am interested
in the man.  I believe him to be innocent
of the crime.'

The commander jumped up from his chair and
went to the cabin door.

'Ask Mr. Perry to come to me at once,' he said
to his steward.

Mr. Perry, the second lieutenant, at once made
his appearance.

'Perry, this is Mr. Wallis and his son.  I want
you to tell them what it was the Governor at
Noumea said about the party of convicts who
escaped a few weeks before the Lady Alicia
arrived.'

'He said that the Cyclope had brought a pardon
for one of them, an American named Castelle or
Casalle, or some name like that, and that he hoped
that he at least would reach Australia safely.  It
seems that something came to light in France
which clearly proved his innocence.'

An exclamation of delight broke from Mr. Wallis,
who could not now refrain from telling the
sympathetic Byng both the story of Henry Casalle,
and that of his brother Ramon.

'Well, I'm heartily glad.  'Twill be a happy
meeting for them.  No doubt the French Consul
here has received advices from the Governor on
the subject; but at the same time I should strongly
advise your friend not to go near him; the chances
are that the Consul would apply to the authorities
here for extradition papers, and get the poor fellow
sent back to Noumea, in order to be told he was
innocent.  Then the beggars there would most
likely give him seven years' detention for running
away "while under sentence."  That's the French
style.  He's safe enough now anywhere in the
colonies, and I'll use my influence with the Governor
at Noumea, when I am there next month, to have
the pardon sent on here.'

Mr. Wallis expressed his thanks, and then only
remaining a few minutes longer--so eager was he
to tell the good news to Casalle--he and Jack
shook hands with Captain Byng, and hurried ashore.

Casalle and little Nita were seated on the wide
verandah of the hotel, awaiting their return, when
father and son dashed up in a cab.  Jack's excited
face told Casalle that something unusual had
occurred.

'Casalle,' said Mr. Wallis, with his grave, kindly
smile, as he grasped the ex-convict's hand, 'you
were the bearer of happy tidings to me, and now
I have good news to tell *you*.'

'Your son Tom----'

'No, my dear fellow, nothing about my boy--but
good news for you.  The captain of the Virago
has just told me that you have been pardoned.
Your innocence has been proved.  This he heard
from the Governor of New Caledonia only a few
weeks after you escaped.  Come, let us go inside,
and I will tell you all about it.  Come, Nita, little
one.  This is a happy day for us all.'

Regardless of the people who were sitting about,
Henry Casalle leapt to his feet, his dark eyes
shining with great joy.  Then they filled with
tears.

'God is good to me, and I thought He had
deserted me!  The world is bright to me again.'

Then entering a quiet room he knelt down and
buried his face in his hands, as Mr. Wallis led
Nita away.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`JACK HAS MISGIVINGS`:

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   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center medium

   JACK HAS MISGIVINGS

.. vspace:: 2

After dinner that evening, as the two men
were sitting in the hotel garden smoking,
and talking, of course, about the return of
the Malolo and the Lady Alicia, Jack, who had
been unusually quiet and thoughtful, came up to
his father.

'Father, there has been something troubling me
all day--ever since we got Tom's letter from
Mr. Biffen this morning.  Let me have it, please, to
read again, and Captain Casalle's as well.'

'What is it, Jack, that is troubling you?'

'Let me read the letters first, dad, then I'll tell
you.'

His father gave him both, and Jack, whose
always serious face was now more serious than
ever, went quietly away into a sitting-room, and
placing them side by side, read them through
carefully.

He sat considering for a few minutes, then went
out again to the garden with the letters in his
hand.

'Father, I must tell you and Mr. Casalle what
is troubling me.  Don't think me foolish.'

'Certainly not, my boy,' said Mr. Wallis, who
knew that Jack must have some good reason for
speaking as he did.

'Well, come inside, and let us read those letters
again.  Father, it may be that Tom is not on board
Captain Hawkins's ship after all.'

'What!' cried Mr. Wallis in startled tones.
'What on earth makes you think that, Jack?'

Entering the sitting-room and closing the door,
the two men seated themselves at the table, and
looked expectantly at Jack, who stood, his grey
eyes filled with trouble.

'Father, this is what makes me think that some
fresh mishap has come to Tom.  Now, listen; here
is what Tom says in one part of his letter--

'"There is a Maori half-caste on board named
Chester.  He and I are great friends."

'Now it is just those words which keep running in
my head, because of something in Captain Casalle's
letter--that part about Bully Hayes and his ship.'
Then he read--

'"During the fighting she also took, or was set
on, fire, and only for another vessel (said to be a
Sydney brig) coming to her assistance, the niggers
would have massacred every one of the crew.
After this Hayes touched at Fortuna Island for
provisions, and while there fell foul of one of his
officers, a New Zealand half-caste, who seems to
have been lent to him by the Sydney brig, and
was about to flog him, but in the night this man,
with a white sailor *and a young lad*, who was a
passenger (on the Leonie, I suppose), escaped in
one of the boats, after scuttling the brig in two
places."

'Don't you think it strange, father, that Tom
should speak of a "Maori half-caste," and that a
"New Zealand half-caste" was lent to Captain
Hayes by the captain of a Sydney brig?'

'It is certainly a coincidence, Jack; but surely it
cannot be anything more,' and Mr. Wallis looked at
Casalle, as if wishing for confirmation of his views.

The seaman nodded.  'A coincidence, sir, no
doubt; but yet----' he paused a moment, 'some
very strange things do occur at times at sea.  Did
not the captain of the Virago say that the Lady
Alicia was going northward to New Britain?'

'Yes.'

'And my brother in his letter says that Hayes
was coming from New Britain, bound to Samoa.
Can it be that the two ships have met, and, by
some means, Tom and the half-caste officer left
their own vessel and went on board the Leonie?'

Mr. Wallis thought for a few moments before
replying.

'It is very disturbing to think about.  Your
brother says there was heavy fighting on board
Hayes's ship, and that the Sydney brig lent Hayes
an officer; but then the young lad is spoken of
as being a passenger on board the Leonie--not
on board Tom's ship.  No; after all, Jack, I do
not think we need distress ourselves.  But, anyway,
let us drive out to Mr. Biffen's house.  He may
be able to tell us if there are any other brigs in
the South Sea trade sailing out of Sydney.'

A short drive brought them to the agent's house,
and Mr. Wallis at once mentioned the suspicions
which had arisen in Jack's mind, and asked him if
there were any other Sydney trading brigs likely
to have been cruising about the Solomons.

Mr. Biffen at once answered, 'No, no brigs; of
that I'm certain.  I know every vessel sailing out
of Sydney (and Melbourne as well) which is an
island trader.  There would be about there at that
time the barques Anna and Lightning, and the
schooner Meg Merrilies, but no brig.  The only
other vessel of that rig besides Hawkins's ship
which would be seen down there, is the Mexicana,
and she has been laid up here for the past six
months.  It certainly is curious, I must admit, but
it is only a coincidence, as you surmise.'

But, in spite of this opinion, both Mr. Wallis
and Jack left the agent's house feeling somewhat
depressed and anxious.

'We can only wait, Jack, and trust in God.
The Lady Alicia may be here in a few weeks
now.'

As the time went by, however, even Jack ceased
to let the matter trouble him much, and, like all
bush-bred boys, entered into the delights of Sydney
life with a zest.  Unlike Tom, ships and sailors
possessed no interest for him beyond that which
had lately become engendered in his mind through
Tom himself; nevertheless, he and Henry Casalle
spent much of their time in sailing about the
harbour, watching the great merchant clippers
entering the Heads, or being towed to sea; at other
times, taking little Nita with them, they would
spend the day fishing in one of the countless bays
of the Harbour, or on the bright waters of the
Parramatta River or Lane Cove.

Early one warm, drowsy afternoon, as Jack,
accompanied by Nita only, was returning homewards
from a fishing excursion, and the boat was sailing
slowly between Goat Island and the Balmain shore,
he saw that signals were flying at the Observatory
flagstaff, 'Ship from Fiji Islands.'

Knowing that the Malolo was due, Jack took
down the sails, got out his sculls, and sent the boat
skimming over the water to town.

'Perhaps it is the Malolo, Nita.'

Nita's black eyes danced with delight, but,
having something of her father's grave manner, she
did not pester Jack with childish questions.  Pulling
in to Miller's Point, Jack left the boat with the
owner, and in a few minutes he and Nita were
hurrying along the squalid streets leading from the
Point into the city proper.  Almost as soon as he
entered the hotel, Mary Potter, Nita's nurse, ran
up to him.

'Mr. Wallis and Mr. Casalle have gone down
the Harbour, sir, in the Customs launch; the
Malolo is come in.  And will you and Miss Nita
follow in a waterman's boat down to Woolloomooloo
Bay, where the ship will anchor?  I won't
be five minutes dressing, Miss Nita.'

The walk from Petty's Hotel to the Circular
Quay only took a few minutes, and as soon as the
boat rounded Fort Macquarie Jack saw a large
white-painted barquentine, which he knew was the
Malolo, just being cast off by a tug, as she
anchored between Lady Macquarie's Chair and
Garden Island.  The moment the boat came
alongside, Captain Casalle, who had been talking
to his brother and Mr. Wallis aft, ran down the
gangway ladder, and caught his child up in his arms.

'How are you, mister?' said a cheerful voice to
Jack as soon as he reached the deck; and his old
acquaintance, Mr. Brooker, the mate, gave him a
hurried handshake as he passed along for'ard;
'here we are back again, safe and sound, with our
pockets full of dollars and our hearts as sweet as
honey, and right glad I am to see you again.'

Several native sailors, whose faces Jack at once
recognised, rushed up to him and shook hands.
They were members of the old crew of the lost
Bandolier.

Going aft, Jack saw a pretty picture--the two
brothers, whom fate had thus brought together so
strangely after more than twenty years, and when
each only thought of the other as dead, were
walking the deck together hand in hand, speaking
in low but eager tones, with little Nita clinging
tightly to her father's disengaged hand, looking
into his face and drinking in every word he
uttered.

As soon as possible the captain, his brother,
Nita, and Mr. Wallis went ashore, leaving Jack to
spend an hour or so on board with the mate, and
then follow and join them at dinner.

Whilst the active mate (whose manner of
addressing the crew Jack thought to be extremely
personal and vigorous) was getting the decks cleared,
and the ship made snug, before sitting down to
chat, Jack had time to have a better look at her.
Next to the Virago, she was the largest vessel he
had ever boarded, and although externally her
white-painted hull was reddened and yellowed
with rust stains, within board she was spotlessly
clean and neat, and her lofty pitch-pine spars were
as bright and smart-looking as those of a crack
yacht.  She carried three boats--a long boat,
which was stowed on the main hatch, and two
beautifully moulded whale-boats, one on each
quarter.  She was a flush-decked vessel, and of
great beam for her tonnage, with a sheer that
would not be perceived until one actually stood
on her deck, either for'ard or aft, and looked right
along it.

Going below to the cabin, he was met by the
steward, a brown-skinned, smiling-faced Samoan,
who, putting his arms around Jack's shoulders,
rubbed noses with him as he shook his hand.

'Don't you 'member me, Mister Jack?  Oh, I
never forget you and Kooringa, never.'

'Of course I haven't forgotten you, Salu, but I
thought you were a sailor on the Bandolier.  Now
you are a steward.'

'Yes, sir.  You see, sir, my sister Solepa was
*fafine tausi teine* (nurse) to Mrs. Casalle's Nita.
And now Mrs. Casalle and Solepa are dead and
gone to God, and I am Salu, the steward to the
captain; and now I am glad, very glad, for I hav'
hear that your brother never is dead.'

'No, Salu, he is not dead.  He will soon be
here in Sydney, I hope.'

The steward smiled delightedly.  'I am glad;
every one on boar' this ship is glad.  Your fath'
is a good man.  Now, if you please, let me make
you some coffee.'

'No, thank you, Salu,' said Jack, shaking the
man's hand, as he looked around the cabin and
noticed the number of Snider rifles and cutlasses
arranged in racks on both sides.  'What a lot of
arms, Salu!'

'Yes, sir.  We go to some bad places.  Sometimes
we *have* to fight, but Capt'en Casalle never
want to fight.  He always go ashore first when
we go to some new place where the natives is wild
and we want to trade.  He won't let the covering
boat come too close, because these wild peoples,
when they see the rifle and the cutlass, they get
afraid and begin to shoot poison' arrows.  He just
jump out of boat and walks up on th' beach, with
his han's in his trousers' pocket, and smokin' his
pipe; an' he says to those wild people, "What's
the matter with you?  I hav' come to talk an'
trade, not to fight.  I am not a fighting man.  I
wan' to buy your copra an' ivory nuts.  See, I
have no little gun," and then he lifts up his pyjama
pocket and show them his bare skin, wis'out no
revolver strapped to his waist.  Oh, he is a fine
man, a good man.'

Mr. Brooker came rattling down the companion way.

'Oh, here you are, Jack.  Now, look here, here's
the whole lot of the old Bandolier's crew wants
to shake hands with you again.  And so do I,
Jack,' and he seized Jack's hand in his and wrung
it vigorously.  'I reckon I've got some new ideas
about British people since I struck Port Kooringa.
I was brought up pious enough by a father and
mother who believed that the only good people
ever produced by Great Britain were the Mayflower
folks; and then in the village school I was
taught to consider the Britishers of those times as
inhuman bein's, who with a mob of Hanoverian
or other Dutch-bred soldiers jest delighted to kill
American farmers, and their wimmen folk and
children, by sticking bayonets into them as a
sorter light amusement.  Yes, thet is so, Jack.  I
come from Martha's Vineyard, and us boys were
always taught to hate Britishers.  We are a mighty
poor lot of people down thet way, and the farming
folk are the poorest of all--only get a square
meal once a week.  They'd look sour at a barrel
of cider for working after twelve o'clock on
Saturday night, and kick a cat for catching a
mouse on Sunday morning.  But, say, let's get on
deck again; these men want to see you mighty
bad before you go ashore again.  They hev' got
something to give you.'

Lighting a huge cheroot, he led the way.

All the crew of the Malolo were gathered
together on the main deck, awaiting Jack's
appearance.  Every man had a present of some kind--a
bundle of Solomon Island spears, bows and arrows,
baskets of magnificent shells, snowy white coral,
clubs, native fish hooks, made from iridescent
pearl shell, a whale's tooth, necklaces of porpoise
teeth, shell armlets, carved coco-nut shells, and
many other curios from the savage islands of
Melanesia.  Placing them upon the deck at Jack's
feet, they drew back, and their spokesman, a
sturdy, square-built native of Rotumah Island,
made a short speech--

'All these things here me and my shipmates
bring you because we want to give you something.
All the time we stop at Kooringa, your father and
you and old man Mr. Foster very kind to us all,
and woman with red hair give us plenty *kai-kai*.[#]
That woman is good woman, and me and my
shipmates very sorry we can' see her no more.  So
if you please, sir, good afternoon, and very much
oblige'.'


[#] Food.


Simple as were the man's words, their sincerity
was very pleasing to Jack, who thanked them
individually, shaking hands with them all.  Most of
them were natives of the South Sea Islands; one
came from beautiful and verdant Rotumah; another
from lonely Easter Island in the far eastern Pacific;
two from Nuié--the 'Savage Island' of Captain
Cook; one from Yasawa in Fiji; and the remainder
from various island groups in the South Pacific.

Mr. Brooker regarded them with a good-natured
smile before telling them to go for'ard again; then
he turned to Jack, and said quietly--

'I was taught to despise niggers of any kind or
breed, but this sort of thing jest jumps up and hits
me in the face.  I never yet saw many white sailors
show any gratitude or remembrance for a good
turn.  Jack Tar is generally Jack Dog, and a
darned or'nary yellow dog, with nary a good
point about him.  Why, every one of these natives
aboard is a Christian, and lives clean in mind and
body.  You should see 'em in the evenings sitting
on the main hatch, every man with his Samoan
Bible or hymn-book in his hand, and waitin' for
Salu the steward to begin the service.  It's jest
good to hear 'em sing!  Where is the crowd of
white sailors who'd have the courage, even if they
had the inclination, to do as these men do, night
after night!  And every one of 'em is a right down
smart sailor man.  Now come below into my
cabin, and we can hev' some talk.  I want to hear
all about your brother Tom, and where in thunder
the skipper's brother come from, and all about the
folks at Port Kooringa.  Come on; the second
mate will look after the ship.'





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.. _`THE MALOLO SAILS IN SEARCH OF TOM`:

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   CHAPTER XIV


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   THE MALOLO SAILS IN SEARCH OF TOM

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The following two weeks passed very quickly,
Jack and his father and the two brothers
being constantly in each other's society.
The Malolo, after discharging her cargo, went
into dock and came out again a bright shining
white, and Mr. Wallis and the captain set about
buying trade-goods for her next voyage.  The
second mate was paid off, and Henry Casalle
shipped in his place, much to his satisfaction.

Late one night, after Jack had turned in and
his father was about to follow, a hansom drove up
to the hotel, and a short stout man, wearing a
frock-coat and tall hat, jumped out, and for two or
three minutes poured out a torrent of abuse upon
the construction of the vehicle and the anatomy of
the horse.

'And as for you, my joker,' he said to the
cabman, 'you think that I don't know you've brought
me by the most circumbendious route you could
think of you thundering swab trying the great
circle dodge on a poor old sailor.'

'Oh, come now, captain, don't say that.  I've
driven you a good many times, and hope to do so
again.'

'Do you?  Well, you won't; what's the figger
I have to pay you for betraying me into your crazy
old rat-trap?'

'Nothing at all--not to-night, anyway, skipper.
You ain't in a good temper.  Shall I wait for
you?' replied the cabman, who evidently knew his
fare.

'No, but come back for me in an hour.  And
here's five bob.'

Just as Mr. Wallis was ascending the stairs, he
heard the stranger's voice, speaking to the hall
porter.

'I want to see Mr. Charles Wallis of Port
Kooringa young man; tell him that Captain
Samuel Hawkins of the brig Lady----'

Mr. Wallis ran up to him with outstretched hand.

'I am Tom's father.  How are you?  Where is Tom?'

'In Samoa or else on his way up to Sydney.
But it's a long yarn and----'

'Come to my room, captain.  Porter, call my
son, and tell him that Captain Hawkins is here.'

For once in his life old Sam said what he had
to say in as few words as possible; and in less
than five minutes Mr. Wallis and Jack heard of
the meeting of the Lady Alicia with the Leonie,
the fight, Mr. Collier's death and Tom's injuries,
and how on account of the latter incident Captain
Hawkins had acceded to Hayes's request to let
Tom remain on board the Leonie with Maori Bill.

'And I'm sure that Bully Hayes would treat him
well, sir, and I'm somewhat disappointed at not
finding him here with you----'

'There is a very good reason for that, Captain
Hawkins,' said Mr. Wallis, sadly.  'Tom never
reached Samoa, and heaven knows what has
happened to him and Maori Bill.'  And then he told
the captain the story that was heard by Captain
Casalle in Fiji.

Old Sam was deeply distressed.  'God knows,
sir, I acted for the best; and now it is clear I did
the worst.  Of course, the young lad mentioned
must be Tom, and of course the New Zealand
half-caste is my William Henry.  Now sir what is to
be done?  I and my brig are at your service.  If
Tom and Maori Bill and the other man had a good
boat they could have easily reached Fiji from
Fotuna.  And yet they might not have put to sea,
after all; they might have gone ashore on some
part of Fotuna and hidden until the Leonie had
sailed!  Fotuna is the place to try first, sir.  They
may be there now, waiting for a ship.  If they did
not stay there they would have headed for Fiji.'

Mr. Wallis sighed.  'I fear the very worst,
Captain Hawkins.  Surely had they reached Fiji
we should have heard something by now!  Fotuna,
I am told, however, is seldom visited by even
trading vessels, and it may be that my boy is
there now.  Now, will you come here to-morrow
morning at ten o'clock, and meet my friend
Captain Casalle, of whom you have heard from
Tom? and we will discuss what is best to be done.  He
has a vessel ready for sea, and I think I shall
charter him to go to Fotuna.  If Tom is not
there, Captain Hawkins, I shall go to Fiji.  I
shall never rest until I know what has become of
my poor boy.  I cannot but think that he and his
companions may have perished at sea; though
there is a chance that, by God's mercy, they have
reached one of the islands.'

Old Sam pondered, then said, 'I don't want to
alarm you, Mr. Wallis, but if Tom and Maori Bill
reached Fiji they ought to have been in Sydney
by now.  But if they didn't leave Fotuna, they
might be there for another six months before they
could get away in a ship.  And, as I said before,
I and my ship are at your service; I will lend her
and myself and crew to you for six months free of
charge to look for Tom, for I love the boy.'  He
took out a violently coloured silk handkerchief,
and mopped his red face and suspiciously watery eyes.

Mr. Wallis pressed the old man's hand.  'Thank
you, Hawkins.  You have been a good friend to
Tom, as his letters show.  But come here
to-morrow, and we shall decide what we shall do.
And always bear in mind one thing, Hawkins--that
whether God has or has not spared my boy to
meet me again, I shall always be glad to call you
my friend.'

The old sailor's eyes filled.  'I'm only a rough
old shellback Mr. Wallis but you know what I
mean my ship and myself----'

'I know that you saved my boy's life, I know
that you are a good and generous-hearted man,
and I thank you very heartily for your offer.  But
we will talk of all these things to-morrow.  Now tell
me about your cruise in search of the Marengo.
Were you successful?'

'Successful we was, sir.  Leastways we found the
men right enough, and a miserable lot they were
too; not six good sailor-men in the whole crowd.
But we had a long long passage back to Noumea,
nothing but light winds and calms for weeks
together; half of the Frenchmen were bad with
fever and some died and me and Mr. de Cann
was right glad when the job was finished.  And
the brig too is badly strained and will have to
undergo a lot of repairs.'

Then, bidding Jack and his father good-night,
the old captain went away, leaving them a prey to
anxiety and torturing surmise about Tom.

Early on the following morning, Mr. Wallis went
on board the Malolo for Captain Casalle, and
returned with him to the hotel, where at ten o'clock
they were joined by Captain Hawkins; and the
three men at once went into the subject of the
most likely course which would have been taken
by Tom and his companions after leaving Fotuna.

'Fiji, of course, would be the nearest land,' said
Captain Casalle; 'but, as Captain Hawkins says,
they may not have left Fotuna at all, but have
waited about till Hayes had sailed.  If they had
reached any part of Fiji, I should certainly have
heard of them whilst I was there.  In my opinion,
there are at Fotuna still.'

'Then I will charter the Malolo from you, Casalle,
and we shall go there----'

'There is no question of a charter, Mr. Wallis.
The Malolo is your ship, not mine.  I am at your
service, and will be ready to sail in twenty-four hours.'

'And as I told you, sir, last night,' said old Sam,
'me and my ship are yours for as long as you want
us.  If harm has come to the boy, it is through me.'

'No, no, Captain Hawkins.  Do not say that.
You are in no way to blame.  And I thank you
very sincerely for your offer; but, as you see, the
Malolo is ready for sea, while your ship has just
come into port after a long and trying voyage, and
needs repairs.  So it must be the Malolo.'

Before noon that day Mr. Brooker was informed of
the decision arrived at, and he and Henry Casalle
at once began to make the vessel ready for sea.
A cabin was fitted up for Nita and her nurse, and
another for Mr. Wallis and Jack, and in something
under thirty hours everything was ready.  That
night the master of Kooringa wrote a long letter
to old Foster, giving him full instructions as to
what to do in his absence, and concluded by saying--

'We may be away eight months or longer.  If we
cannot find Tom in six months, I shall give up all
hope of ever seeing him again.'

Just before sunset on the following day a tug
came alongside the Malolo, and by seven o'clock
the beautiful vessel had gained an offing, and was
heading eastward on her quest.





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.. _`ON ALOFI ISLAND`:

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   CHAPTER XV


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   ON ALOFI ISLAND

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A little before dawn broke, Tom was
awakened from a heavy slumber by
Maori Bill, and, sitting up, he saw that
the boat was within a cable length of densely
verdured Alofi, which, unlike its sister island of
Fotuna, has no protecting barrier reef along its
shore.

'There's a little bit of creek just here, where we
can fill our water breakers,' said the Maori, 'but I
can't see it just yet.  It will be a fine place for
us to lie by in until to-night, and then slip out
again.'

Taking down the sail, they waited until the
light became stronger, and then a little further
to the southward they saw a break in the thick
foliage which grew to the water's edge.

Charlie, whose arm was not yet strong enough
to use an oar in pulling, now came aft and steered,
and Tom and Bill went to the oars.  It was
fortunately high water, and they were enabled
to bring the boat not only into the mouth of the
creek, but some fifty yards higher up, where she
lay completely hidden from view under the thick
and drooping foliage of the trees, and in pure fresh
water.

Just as the boat was made fast rain began to
fall heavily, and Tom and his friends found
excellent shelter between the buttresses of an
enormous fallen *maso'i* tree, where they ate their
breakfast in comfort and watched the descending
torrents with complacency.

Maori Bill, as he filled his pipe, seemed well
pleased.  The place to which he had brought them
was well known to him, though many years had
passed since he had last seen it.  The island of
Alofi, he told his companions, had but one small
village of half a dozen houses, situated on the
northern point, where there were extensive
plantations of yams, taro, sugar-cane, and bananas
owned by the people of Fotuna.  The rest of
the island, though of extraordinary fertility, was
left to solitude, except when a party of young
men would visit it on a pig-hunting or
pigeon-snaring expedition.

'Then there's no fear of any natives being
about now,' said Tom.

'No; but we must not make a fire.  The smoke
might be seen by some one.  We can lie by here
nice and comfortable all day, whether it rains or
clears up,' answered the Maori.

As he spoke a grunt sounded near him, and in
an instant he lay flat upon the leaves, motioning
to Tom and Charlie to do likewise.

'It's a pig,' he whispered, taking his knife out
of its sheath.

The grunt was followed by squeaks, and presently
a sow, followed by a litter of seven pretty black
and yellow striped piglets, came down the side
of the leaf-strewn hill, tossing up the leaves with
their little snouts in search of *maso'i* berries.

'Let 'em get between us and the boat,' said
Bill to Tom.  'I'll tackle the old sow; perhaps
you can knock over one or two of the young ones.'

Quite unsuspicious of danger, mother and
children rooted their innocent way along till they
were well between the water and the fallen tree.
Then Bill leapt up and flung himself upon the sow,
seized her by a hind leg, and thrice quickly
drove his knife into her ribs; the progeny,
with squeals of terror, scattered in all directions,
some going up the hill-side and others taking to
the water like otters.  Tom managed to secure
one, which promptly bit him savagely on the
hand; and Maori Bill jumped into the creek, and
caught another, as it was swimming across.

'Don't kill them!' he cried; 'fresh pork for the boat.'

Tearing off some bark from a sapling, Bill
lashed the animals' feet securely together and
carried them to the boat.  They were both very
plump, and yelled and squealed and bit vigorously.
The sow was at once cut up by Tom, who was
no novice at such work, for he had often lent a
hand in the killing yard on his father's station,
and soon the quarters were hung up to a branch.

After nine o'clock the rain ceased, the sun came
out bright and warm, and the trade wind blew fresh
and clear, and brought with it the sweet earthy smell
from the rain-soaked forest around and above them.
Flock after flock of small but noisy green and gold
and scarlet plumaged parrakeets came screaming
down from the mountain sides, and settled on the
bushes which overhung the creek, and every now
and then, with heavy flapping of wings and deep
booming note, pigeons, singly and in pairs, lit in the
branches of the loftier trees, to feed on the scarlet
berries of the *maso'i* and *se'ase'a*.

Satisfied from the absence of any paths along the
mountain side that they were not likely to be
disturbed by native visitors, and that the boat could
not possibly be discerned from the sea, the three
adventurers hauled her alongside of a smooth, flat
rock on the bank of the creek, and unloaded her.
Everything was spread out to dry, and Tom was
astonished at the number and variety of articles his
companions had managed to smuggle away from
the Leonie.

Bill smiled grimly.  'That's the first time I've
ever robbed any one--if it is robbery.  The steward
helped me to get most of the provisions.'

'Robbery!' said Charlie, 'not a bit of it.  There's
a matter of about three hundred dollars due me by
Bully Hayes for wages, which I shall never see.'

'And I was to get a hundred from him with my
discharge from Samoa,' said Bill, 'so that's four
hundred dollars he'll be to windward.'

'Let us reckon up the value of all this gear, and
see how we stand with Bully,' said Charlie, with a
grin.  'Mr. Wallis, you do the figgerin', an' me an'
Mr. Chester will do the valooin'.  Now here goes;
but as we hasn't any pens an' paper these will do.'

He went down to the water's edge and returned
with his cap full of small smooth pebbles, which he
handed to Tom.  Then, seizing a flour-sack, which
was full of various articles, he turned them out on
the rock.

Thirty-four tins of canned dog, called American
meat.  How much, Mr. Chester?'

'Half a dollar a tin.'

'Half a dollar it is.  Got that down, Mr. Wallis?'

'Yes,' said Tom, 'seventeen dollars;' and he
counted out seventeen pebbles.

'Six bottles of pickles, two bottles of chutney,
and two bottles of green things like plums, one bag
of oatmeal, and a tin box of raisins.  How much for
that lot?'

Bill was not sure.  'Say ten dollars.'

'Fourteen-pound box of "Two Seas" tobacco--Mr. Chester,
you has a right noble mind to think of
it,--three hanks twine, palm and sail-needles, one
box fish-hooks, four pair dungaree pants, six dozen
packets Swedish stinker matches, lot o' clay pipes
all broken, three clasp-knives, and one tin o' mustard.
How much?'

After a little discussion the lot was valued at
forty dollars; and then the contents of the next bag
were turned out.  They consisted of about fifty pounds
of biscuit, some tins of German sausage, a rug
belonging to Mr. Kelly, a bag of bullets, a fan-tail
hatchet, a bundle of fishing-lines, a burning-glass, a
Dutch cheese in a tin, ten boxes of percussion-caps,
and one bottle of Edinburgh ale.

'Put them down at twenty dollars, Mr. Wallis.'

The next 'lot' was rolled up in the steward's
own blankets, and carefully seized round with spun
yarn--three Snider carbines with three hundred or
four hundred cartridges, the steward's own razor,
glass, and comb, Tom's gun (that given him by the
captain of the Virago at Noumea), some more tins
of powder, caps, a bag of No. 3 shot, a bottle of one
'Kennedy's Medical Discovery for the Cure of all
Diseases,' a bag of salt, a piece of New Zealand
bacon, Mr. Harvey's revolver with case and fittings,
a roasted fowl, and a sextant-case without the
sextant.

'About a hundred and fifty dollars will square
that lot,' said Maori Bill, thoughtfully.

In addition to these items, the steward and Bill
had casually picked up some unconsidered trifles in
the trade-room, such as bottles of brandy, a dozen
tins of sardines and salmon, a bundle of tomahawks,
some loose tobacco, and a German concertina, which
were appraised at twenty dollars by Bill, who seemed
anxious to give every article its full value.

'Two hundred and fifty-seven dollars,' said Tom,
counting his pebbles.

'Then there's the boat and all her gear complete--sails,
oars, and compass,' said Bill, virtuously.
'That's worth another hundred and fifty.'

Charlie grinned and shook his head.  'Don't
count that in--the Leonie herself wasn't bought by
Hayes; he *found* her.  Found her in the Bonin
Islands, when her captain and most of the
afterguard was ashore drunk at a Portugee dance; and
so, as he hadn't a ship himself, and was shocked at
seeing such a fine brig being left in charge of a few
Manila men sailors, he went aboard with a few of
his friends--I was one of 'em--and lifted the anchor
and went to sea to look for the owners.  But he
couldn't find the owners, though I've heard him
say that he's just wearing out his life trying to find
'em, and has to go into nigger-catching to pay his
expenses.  No, you needn't set the boat down.
Now, there we are; two hundred and fifty-seven
dollars from four hundred.'

'Leaves a hundred and forty-three,' said Tom.

'That Bully Hayes owes us.  Well, he owes a
lot more to other people, so we'll forgive him our
little bill,' said Charlie, as he began laying the
various articles out separately on the rock, so as to
dry in the sunshine.

Tom looked at the man in silence.  He was tall
and thin, with red hair, deep-set eyes, a square,
determined chin, and a set mouth scarcely veiled
by a straggling moustache and ragged beard of the
same hue as his hair.  His face, on the whole, Tom
thought, was not a taking one; but his voice was
pleasant, though a cynical and reckless humour
was ever noticeable in his speech.  Suddenly he
turned and caught Tom's eye, and his cheeks
flushed.  He stood up stiffly and put his hand in
his trouser pocket.

'Look here, Mr. Wallis!  Don't you think I run
away from Bully Hayes and the Leonie for the
sake of these'--he held out the ten sovereigns
which Tom had given him the previous night, and
then let them fall carelessly upon the rock.  'I came
with you and this man here because I was sick of
the life I've led with Hayes for the past four years.
Mind you, I'm not saying anything against the man;
I like him.  He did me a good turn when I was
lying in gaol in Cape Town, and was as good as
booked for ten years for smashing a man's----'

Bill strode forward and placed his brown hand
over the sailor's mouth.

'Shut up, Charlie, shut up, I tell you!' he said in
a savage whisper; 'what does this boy want to hear
'bout the doings of men like you an' me?  It won't
do him no good, I tell you; an' I won't have it.
I'm no better than you, Charlie.  I've been in goal
for killing a man I didn't mean to kill, and I've
suffered for it too.  Don't let us talk 'bout such
things--for the boy's sake.'

The white sailor immediately collapsed.  'Of
course I won't.  I'm not the man to shove my
opinions on nobody, but Bully Hayes is not a
bad sort.'

'He's not--with his mauleys.  But he's not a
better man with them than I am with mine,
Charlie.  If you don't believe me, wait till we get
to Fiji, and I'll thump you and any other three
men, one after another, in the yard at Manton's
Hotel--for nothing.'

'Thank you, mister; you have a noble mind
for trifles, as I said just now.  But I take it for
granted, and I'm sorry I spoke as I did before
the boy.  Now what about filling these water-breakers?'

The Maori put both his huge hands on the
sailor's shoulders, and with a good-humoured smile
forced him down upon the rock in a sitting
posture.

'You sit down there and let me do that.  You
mus' look out that you don't hurt your arm.  We
may have to pull a lot between here and Fiji.
And while I am filling the water-breakers you
can fix up some fishing-lines.  We can catch
some fish here before we leave, and after we have
stowed the boat again I'll get a hundred or so of
young drinking coco-nuts.'

The remainder of the morning passed away
pleasantly enough.  Tom and Charlie, baiting
their hooks with large fresh-water prawns, which
were very plentiful in the creek, threw their lines
out in the shallow water at its mouth, and soon
caught some purple-scaled fish called by the
natives *afulu*, and resembling English barbel in
shape and size.

Meanwhile Maori Bill, after placing everything
back in the boat, and filling the water-breakers,
had walked along a narrow beach to where a
grove of coco-nuts displayed their tempting fruit
in great clusters.  He ascended two or three trees,
threw down a score or so of the young nuts from
each, tied them together by tearing out a piece of
each husk with his sharp teeth, and returned to
the camp just as Tom and Charlie appeared with
a string of fish and a huge soft-shell crab, which
they had found lying in a weedy pool.

Bill's eyes glistened at the sight of the crab.
'That's a beauty!  Let me feel him.  He weighs
ten pound.  What a pity we can't light a fire and
cook him!  But, never mind, we'll cut him athwart-ships
and rub some salt into him when we do the
pig.  The fish we can dry in the boat.  Now what
about some dinner?'

With a tin of what Charlie termed 'canned dog,'
but what was really excellent American beef, half
a dozen biscuits, and some deliciously sweet young
coco-nuts, the three made a hearty meal.  Then
the two men filled their pipes and discussed their
coming voyage while roughly salting the pig.

'I couldn't get a chart of Fiji,' said Bill, 'as
Bully had locked his door when he went ashore.
But it doesn't matter a bit.  We have only to
steer a course between S. and S.S.W. to hit the
north end of Fiji.  If we can strike the Nanuku
Passage, I'll know my way right down to Levuka.
They're a bad lot of natives in the northern part;
but even if we have to land there, we'll get along
all right without fighting, as I talk Fiji well.  I
had a Fiji girl for wife once; she came from just
that part--from a little island called Thikombia.'

Just as they had finished salting the pork, and
were about to stow the boat again, Charlie, looking
up at the tree tops, remarked that the wind seemed
to have fallen very light 'all of a sudden.'

Bill was on the alert at once.  'I'll have a look
outside;' and he walked down to the mouth of the
creek, from where he could have a good view of
the sky and the sea horizon as well.  He came
back at a run.

'There's going to be a blow--a big blow from
the eastward.  Like as not it'll last for five days;
three days for certain, anyway.  We'll have to
snug down here until it's over.  Let's get the
boat up as far as we can; there'll be a thundering
big sea rolling right into the creek before night.
Heavy rain is coming too, and we'll have to house
in and weather it out.'

His suggestions were carried out as quickly as
possible.  Everything movable was first taken
out of the boat, which was hauled still further
up the little creek, and the stores were carried up
to the fallen tree, and placed under its buttress, on
the dry leaves which covered the ground.  Then,
leaving Charlie at the camp, Tom and Bill set off
in search of fallen coco-nut branches to make a
roofing.  In an hour they had collected enough,
and Bill at once set to work to make thatching,
which he did with such speed and cleverness that
Tom was lost in admiration at his resourcefulness.
By four o'clock in the afternoon they had made
the buttress of the fallen *maso'i* into a perfectly
rainproof house, open to the westward, and
protected at the back from the coming gale by the
mighty trunk of the tree itself.

By this time the atmosphere had become
intensely close and oppressive, and every now and
then a warm gust of wind would sway the branches
overhead.  The calls of the forest birds had ceased,
but vast numbers of ocean birds came flying in
from seaward, filling the air with their hoarse,
screaming notes.

'It's coming presently,' said Bill to Tom; 'don't
you hear the sea making a booming noise?  It
always does in these places when it is coming on
to blow from the eastward.  When the natives
of the Tokelau[#] Islands hear the sea make that
sound, they know it means heavy weather from
the eastward or the northward, and always haul
up their canoes and secure their houses from the
*matagi afa*,[#] as they call it.'

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: left small

   [#] The Union, Ellice, and Gilbert Islands are now generally
   termed Tokelau by the inhabitants of the eastern islands of
   Polynesia.  Formerly, however, only the low-lying islands of the
   Union Group were meant by the term.

   [#] Hurricane.

.. vspace:: 2

Before Tom could answer there came a droning,
humming sound from the sea, and then a wild and
deafening clamour, as the first squall of the coming
hurricane smote the island, and ripped and tore its
way through the forest.

'That's the first lot,' shouted Bill in Tom's ear;
'now we'll get some rain, and after that another
squall or two and more rain, and then it'll settle
down to business properly, and blow like forty
thousand cats yowling at once.  I'm glad we put
in here.'

It certainly did settle down to business properly,
for before another hour had passed the wind was
blowing with almost hurricane force, and the sea
was a succession of seething, foaming billows,
which, dashing furiously against the eastern shore
of the island, sent their spume and spray in a
continuous misty shower, high up among the swaying
and crashing branches of the trees half a mile
inland.

Sitting under the shelter of the great tree, Tom
and his comrades listened to the howling of the
storm with feelings of the utmost serenity, for they
were completely protected from its force.

'Let us light a fire,' said Bill, picking up a
tomahawk; 'the smoke of fifty fires wouldn't be
noticed now, and we can cook the pork and fish.'

The dead tree itself furnished plenty of firewood,
and presently Bill and Tom had cut quite a pile;
then the former went to the shore with a bag, and
returned with it half filled with large, rough stones.

'I'll show you how we cook in the South Seas,
Mr. Wallis,' he said, as he turned out the stones
and began to dig out a shallow hole in the soft
soil just in front of their shelter.  This done, he
lit a fire in the centre of the hole, laid a lot of thick
pieces of wood across, and then piled the stones
on top.

Then as the fire blazed up and began to heat
the stones, he and Charlie took the four quarters of
pork, cut them up into smaller pieces, wrapped each
portion in wide green leaves and placed them aside;
the fish were simply disembowelled without being
scaled, and then neatly parcelled round with
coconut leaf, the crab being treated in the same manner.
In the course of an hour the stones, at white heat,
fell into the depression, and were spread out evenly
by means of a stick, the pork and fish placed on
them, and then the whole lot quickly covered up
by layers of thick heavy leaves, on top of which
again was placed a covering of loose soil.

Whilst waiting for the food to cook, Tom and
the others made their way through the forest to
the nearest point overlooking the sea.  The sky
was grey and sullen, and the sea, a mile or so out,
presented an appalling aspect; immediately under
the lee of the island it was not so bad, though
every now and then great billows would come
rolling in to the very mouth of the creek, as Bill
had foretold.  Fotuna Island, although the nearest
point, and but eight miles distant, was quite
obscured from view, for, in addition to the salty spume
which filled the air, there was a sharp, driving rain.

'Bill,' said Tom, 'where should we be now if we
had kept on in the boat?'

Bill shook his head.  'We could only have done
two things--either let her run before it, and most
likely broach to and capsize, or put out a sea-anchor
and tried to ride it out that way; but whatever we
did we would have been carried away to the
westward, and there's no land that way, except the New
Hebrides--a matter of more than a thousand miles.
I can tell you, sir, that it's lucky for us we left the
Leonie without any water.  If we had had water in
the boat, I should have kept on.'

Returning to the camp before darkness set in, the
oven was opened, and the three made another hearty
meal by the light of a blazing fire.  The two piglets
were partially freed by being tethered with a bit of
spun yarn to a hind leg.  The boat was seen to, and
then, spreading out the sail on the ground inside
the hut, Tom and his comrades lay down and slept,
undisturbed by the clamour of the sea and the
moaning of the wind.





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.. _`THE ENDING OF THE BOAT VOYAGE`:

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   CHAPTER XVI


.. class:: center medium

   THE ENDING OF THE BOAT VOYAGE

.. vspace:: 2

For the following two days, during which
time the gale still blew with unabated
force, Tom and his companions found
that time did not hang idly on their hands.  The
Maori had discovered a patch of wild yams
growing in the mountain forest, and whilst he dug, and
Charlie carried them down to the camp to be
baked in preparation for the voyage, Tom was
employed in shooting pigeons and *manutagi*, a
species of ringdove, great numbers of which had
been driven over to the lee side of the island by
the storm.

On the afternoon of the third day the wind
hauled round to the south-east, and towards
evening it blew with but moderate force; the sea went
down rapidly, the sky cleared, and by dawn the
ordinary gentle trade had set in, and a deeply blue
ocean lay shining and sparkling in the bright and
glorious sunshine.

It was decided at breakfast to make a start that
evening just after sunset, when they could not
possibly be seen by any one on Fotuna.  Charlie
bluntly asserted that if Captain Hayes caught
sight of their boat, he would give chase in the second
whaler, 'and then we'd have a mighty bad time.
You, Mr. Wallis, would be all right, but me and
Mr. Chester might as well jump overboard and let
the blue sharks get us, as be taken back to the
Leonie again.  He's a passionate man, and doesn't
stop at trifles.  Me he'd either shoot at sight, or
half murder me afterwards, during the voyage.'

Immediately after breakfast, Bill started off to
collect a few old coco-nuts to add to their already
ample store of provisions, and Tom and Charlie
remained at the camp to slaughter and cook the
two captive piglets, and catch a few more fish; but
hardly had they begun operations by lighting a fire,
when Bill came running back.

'The Leonie is all right.  She's just coming out
of Singavi, and will most likely run past here.  Put
out that fire, quick, and come and look at her.'

'Oh, I'm so glad that she is all right, Bill!' said
Tom.  'It would be a pity if such a beautiful vessel
sank altogether.'

'Beautiful to look at, you mean,' said the Maori, grimly.

.. _`268`:

Walking through the forest to the mouth of the
creek, they seated themselves on a vine-covered
pile of loose boulders, and watched the brig
approach.  She was running before the wind, and
in an hour was so close that many of her people
could be recognized.  Hayes was leaning on the
rail smoking his inevitable cigar, and apparently
having a good look at the shore; Mr. Kelly and
the other officers were also visible, and a number
of the 'blackbirds' were squatted about on the
main deck under the care of the usual armed guards.
The brig was, of course, much deeper in the water,
now that she had more than a hundred tons of
yams aboard, but she moved along very quickly.
Presently she hauled up a little, so as to round the
south point of Alofi, and the unseen watchers heard
Hayes's voice for the last time as he called out,
'Steady there, José!' to the man at the wheel.
In another five minutes she had disappeared round
the headland.

Then Bill turned to his companions, and said,
'Now, Mr. Wallis, and you, Charlie, I would like to
say a word.  There goes the Leonie, and with her
goes any danger to us, if we decide to go back to
Fotuna.  Now what is it to be--shall we go back?
Will you speak first, Mr. Wallis?'

'I vote for Fiji, Bill.  I don't want to live on
Fotuna for perhaps six months.  My father and
brother will give me up as dead when the Lady
Alicia gets back to Sydney without me.'

Charlie was equally as eager for the boat voyage,
pointing out that it could be accomplished without
danger; that they had a good boat, and provisions
and water enough to last them a month; and that
with ordinary fair weather they should reach the
Fiji Group in four days at the outside.  Bill, who
was tacitly understood to be captain, was also in
favour of the voyage, and so the matter was
decided.

By two o'clock in the afternoon everything was
in readiness for a start; but Bill, suspicious that
Hayes might imagine they were in hiding
somewhere on one of the islands, and only be sailing
round the coast to see if he could discover the boat,
suggested that they should first make sure of the
whereabouts of the Leonie by ascending the highest
peak.  This they at once set about to accomplish,
and after an hour's arduous struggle succeeded in
climbing to the summit, and from there obtaining
a view of the horizon.

'We're all right,' said Charlie.  'There she is; I
can just see her'--and he pointed to a little white
speck far away to the eastward; 'she's off, sure
enough.'

After resting for a while, and enjoying the
glorious view, they descended again, and reached
the camp just as darkness fell.

Opening some coco-nuts, Bill poured out a drink
each for himself, Charlie and Tom.

'Here's success to our voyage, sir!' he cried,
tossing off the liquor, and then sending the shells
spinning in the air.  'Now, all hands aboard.'

Tom jumped in, got out his oar, Bill followed,
and, with Charlie steering, the boat was pulled
out of the tree-darkened little creek into the bright
starlight.  A hundred yards from the shore the
oars were taken in, the boat-lamp, used as a
binnacle, lit, the mainsail and jib hoisted, and
with a loud 'Hurrah!' from Tom, the little craft
was headed S.S.W. with Bill at the tiller--she
was steered with either a rudder or a steer oar,
the latter being used when there was a strong
breeze only.

The night was warm, the breeze fair, and with
plenty of heart in it, and the three comrades were
all more or less excited and disposed to talk, and
made light of the really venturesome voyage
before them.  Presently Charlie, to Tom's
astonishment, began to sing a catching air in Spanish,
learnt when he had served in the Chilian navy
years before, and Bill, usually so grim and
taciturn, joined in the chorus with his deep,
guttural tones.

'Hallo, Bill!' cried the white sailor, dropping the
'Mr. Chester,' 'wherever did you learn this old
*yamacueca* jingle?'

'Long, long ago, when I was boat-steerer on
the Prudence Hopkins, a New Bedford ship.  We
had a lot of Chileno hands aboard, and they were
always singing it.  Now let's quit fooling a bit,
and fix up 'bout watches.'

This was soon arranged, and then Bill told
Charlie and Tom his plans in detail.  He hoped
to be able to make the Great Ngele Levu lagoon,
remain there for a few days, and then sail across
to the island of Rambi, where they were almost
sure to find a trading cutter or schooner bound
to Levuka; if not, then he would keep on,
passing between Taviuni and Vanua Levu, and
then head direct for Levuka, where they were
certain to meet with a Sydney or New Zealand vessel.

All that night the boat ran before a steady
breeze, and at daylight Fotuna and Alofi were
fifty miles astern, and there was nothing to break
the wide expanse of the ocean around them except
a few wandering sea-birds floating upon its bosom.
As the sun rose higher, the wind gained in
strength without the sea increasing, and the boat
slipped through the water in gallant style.  A
keen look-out was kept astern, for, as Bill said,
there was a possibility of their being overtaken
by a trading vessel bound from Samoa to Fiji, or
a 'blackbirder' heading for the New Hebrides.

Then, as near to eight o'clock as could be
judged, the Maori lay down to sleep till midnight,
leaving Charlie to steer and Tom to act as 'crew.'

As the night wore on the wind fell somewhat
lighter, and both the white sailor and his youthful
companion found it hard to resist the feeling of
drowsiness which the insidious warmth and beauty
of the night was weaving around them.

'Charlie,' said Tom, 'if you will hold the
sheet for a minute or two, I'll go for'ard, strip off,
and souse some water over myself.  I can't keep
awake.'

Charlie nodded.  'Right you are, sir; but it's
hardly worth while now.  I think it must be about
eight bells, and time to call the skipper.'

Passing the mainsheet over to him, Tom picked
up the bucket used as a bailer, stepped over the
mast thwart to the bows, and began to strip, when
Charlie sprang to his feet.

'I say, sir, here's a ship close to!'  And then
his voice rang out loudly--

'*Ship ahoy!*'

The Maori was up in an instant, his seaman's
eye took one quick glance at the dark, towering
mass of canvas not two hundred yards away, and
almost right abeam.  Seizing the tiller from Charlie,
he called out sharply--

''Bout ship, in with the mainsheet there; she's
close-hauled, and we'll catch her up in no time.
Give another hail, Charlie.  Mr. Wallis, take this
lamp, stand up for'ard and sway it; hold it up as
high as you can.'

Round went the boat, and then, to their intense
delight, at Charlie's second hail, and as Tom
swayed his light, an answering cry came from
the ship--

'Boat ahoy, there!  We see you,' followed by
the rattle and squeaking of blocks as the ship's
braces were let go, and her main-yard swung back.
Then a bright light was shown from the weather
mizzen rigging, and a voice hailed--

'Are you able to come alongside?  I've lost
three of my boats, and the other two are badly
damaged.'

'Yes, thank you,' answered Bill, as he and
Charlie lowered the mast and sail; 'we'll pull
alongside.'

Ten minutes later, Tom and his companions
were standing on the deck of the barque Adventurer,
of New Bedford, Captain Frank Herrendeen, a
typical American whaling skipper, who received
them very kindly, his first question being whether
they were hungry.

'No, sir,' replied Tom, who, at Bill's suggestion,
acted as spokesman; and then, in as few words
as possible, he told their story, adding, 'We have
suffered no hardships whatever since we left the
island, and were making for Fiji.  Where are you
bound for, captain?'

'Fotuna Island.  Won't that suit you?' he
inquired, noticing the look of disappointment on
their faces.

'The fact is, sir, I have a very strong reason for
wishing to get to Fiji or some place where I can
find a ship as quickly as possible,' said Tom, who
then gave his reasons as briefly as possible, the
captain listening with the greatest interest.

'Well, don't decide in a hurry.  Come below
and let us have some talk.  Mr. Burr, don't
hoist in these men's boat; put a hand in her
to steer, and then veer her astern.  She'll tow
nicely enough in such weather as this until daylight.'

As soon as they entered the well-lighted cabin,
the captain motioned them to seats, and then, as
his eye fell on the dark features of the Maori
half-caste, he uttered an exclamation of pleasure.

'Why, it's William Chester, as sure as I'm Frank
Herrendeen.  How are you, William?' and rising,
he shook hands warmly with Bill, saying to Tom,
'Why, this man was boat-steerer with me when I
was mate of the Prudence Hopkins, seven years ago.'

The steward brought the three men liquor and
cigars, and Tom a cup of hot coffee; and then the
skipper of the whaler went into the subject
uppermost in his mind at once.

'Now look here.  I don't want to induce you
three to do anything against your wills; but I'd be
mighty glad if you'd give the word, and let me
have that boat of yours hoisted on deck.  I'm in a
tight place, and that's the truth of it, and I'd like
you to help me.  We had a heavy blow a few days
ago, lost five men overboard--my fourth mate was
one--and the ship started a butt end, and is leaking;
you'll hear the pumps going presently.  Two of
my boats were swept away one after another, and
it was while endeavouring to secure the third
that the fourth mate and four of the hands were
carried overboard; the ship was thrown on her
beam ends at the same time, and the poor fellows
were never seen again.  So that is why I should
like you to give up the idea of going to Fiji--to be
right out plain with you, I want to buy that boat.
I'll give you two hundred dollars for her, and if
you, William, will take a 'fourth mate's berth, I'll
be mighty pleased.'

Bill shook his head.  'I can't do it, captain.  I've
pledged my word to Captain Hawkins to stick to
Mr. Wallis here, and I can't go back on it.  If
you were not cruising, but were bound to a port
where me and Mr. Wallis and Charlie here could
strike a ship going to Australia, it would be
different.'

The master of the whaler jumped to his feet.
'But I'm not cruising exactly, William.  I'm
going to make Fotuna to heave the barque down
and try and get at the leak, and pick up some
hands in place of those I've lost; then I'm going
to Samoa to land a couple of passengers (I'll tell
you all about them presently), and at Samoa you
and this young man can get a passage to either
Sydney or New Zealand easy enough.  You'll
reach Australia from Samoa just as quick as you
can from Fiji.  Come, William, just study it out.
I do want that boat of yours real bad.  I haven't
one I can lower, if we raise a whale.  And a
boat may mean a lot to me between here and Samoa.'

Bill looked at Tom, and Tom at Bill.  The
skipper's anxious face appealed to them both.

'I think we can get to Sydney sooner by going
on to Fiji, Captain Herrendeen,' said Bill, bluntly;
'there is more chance of a Sydney ship to be met
with there than in Samoa.  But if Mr. Wallis is
willing for us to----'

As he was speaking, one of the cabin doors on
the port side opened, and a woman's soft voice
said--

'Can I help in any way, Captain Herrendeen?
Solepa tells me that you have picked up a boat
with some shipwrecked men.  I was fast asleep.
Shall I dress and come out?'

The captain got up out of his seat and went to
the door.

'Don't you worry, Mrs. Casalle; the men are
all right.  Good night.'

With eyes gleaming with excitement, Tom
sprang to the captain's side just as the door was
shut.

'Casalle, Mrs. Casalle!  Did you say *Casalle*,
sir,' he said, 'of the Bandolier?'

'Yes, Casalle, that is the lady's name.  She
and her servant are my passengers.  Her husband's
ship was the Bandolier, and ran on to Middleton
Reef, and nearly all hands were lost----'

'No, they were not!' Tom shouted.  'Captain
Casalle and a lot of his men and his little girl
came to Port Kooringa in a boat.  *I saw* them;
*I saw them*, captain, I tell you!  They came to
our house.  They----'

Herrendeen raised his hand tremblingly.  'Steady,
my boy, steady, for God's sake!  She's a poor little
weak sort of thing, and this news might kill her
right out.  Are you certain?'

'I am certain, captain,' replied Tom, with an
irrepressible sob of joy; 'I am certain--Captain
Casalle! the Bandolier! and all the rest of it!
There can be no mistake.  He told Foster and I
that his wife was drowned with the second mate,
two men, and a Samoan girl.'

Captain Herrendeen's voice quavered as he put
out his hand to Tom.  'Say, let us tell it to her
quietly.  William, and you, mister, just go on deck
awhile.'

The Maori and Charlie at once went on deck,
and left Tom and Captain Herrendeen alone.  The
captain sat down with his hand to his brow for a
minute or so, and then looked at Tom with a
strange smile on his face.

'I've been dreaming, my boy; but it's all ended
now, and I'm glad, real glad.'

He rose from his seat and tapped gently at the
cabin door from which the woman's voice had
issued.

'Mrs. Casalle,' he called softly, 'will you dress
and come out?  I have some real, downright good
news for you.'

'Good news, Captain Herrendeen,' said the same
musical voice Tom had heard before; 'I think I
know what it is--you have found the leak, and we
are bearing away for Samoa.'

'Better than that, Mrs. Casalle,' said the captain,
turning to Tom, with a smile; 'just you come out,
quick.'

There was a murmur of two female voices; then
the cabin door opened, and a slenderly-built,
pale-faced, dark-haired woman came out, followed by a
young native girl.

'What is your good news, Captain Herrendeen?'
she said, with a faint smile, as she bowed to Tom,
who, boy-like, was too confused to speak for the
moment.

'Sit down here, Mrs. Casalle,' and the captain
led her to a seat.  'This young man here will
tell you something that will do your heart
good, something--now just you sit here beside
me; and there ... hold on.  Now, young fellow----'

Tom, trying to conceal his nervousness, and yet
look dignified at the same time, came forward and
took her hand.

'Mrs. Casalle, I am Tom Wallis.  Captain
Casalle and your little girl are safe.  They came
to Port Kooringa in one of the boats belonging to
the Bandolier.'

She looked at him in a half-dazed sort of way,
and then fainted off quietly into Captain
Herrendeen's arms.

'She'll be all right presently,' said the captain.
'Here, bear a hand, Solepa.  I guess you know
what to do better than me.'

'Oh yes, I know, I know,' answered the native
girl, quickly; 'she have faint like this plenty of
time.  You can go, sir.  She will soon get better
now with me.'

Leaving Mrs. Casalle with her attendant, the
captain returned to the main cabin.

'Now, Mr. Wallis, you'll have to sit up and
keep me company for an hour or two, until the
poor little woman feels better; steward, get a
spare bunk ready for Mr. Chester; and let the
red-haired man turn in here until breakfast time.'

'You have made up your mind that we're going
to Fotuna with you, then, captain?' said Tom, with
a smile.

'Of course I have; and of course you have, too?
Come, a day or two won't matter much to you,
and during that time I'll have talked you round,
and get you to come on to Samoa with me.  You
have just saved the little woman's life, and she'll
want to talk to you for about a week, anyway.
Come, promise me.'

Neither Tom nor Bill could refuse such a
request, and then presently the captain, putting his
hand on the former's shoulder, asked him if he was
too tired to tell him about the rescue of the captain
of the Bandolier.

'Not a bit,' answered Tom; 'and then I want
to know how Mrs. Casalle was saved.  I heard
her husband say that she, the second mate, two
seamen, and the nurse were all drowned.'

'Only one hand was drowned.  Mrs. Casalle,
the second mate, the Samoan girl, and the other
sailor managed to cling on to the swamped boat,
which they succeeded in clearing of water after
a while.  They drifted about all night, and about
seven o'clock in the morning found themselves
quite close to Elizabeth Reef.  They had no oars,
but by breaking up the bottom boards of the
boat they managed to get on shore, lived there
on birds' eggs for nearly a week, and there I
found them.  Then I sailed to and examined
Middleton Reef, but found no trace of any other
survivors.  She and the girl have been with me
ever since, waiting to get back to Samoa; the
second mate and men are with me, too.'

At sunrise Solepa, the native girl, whose brown
face was radiant with smiles, came on deck.

'If you please, captain, will dis gentleman come
now and talk to her?  She is better.'

Tom went below, and found Mrs. Casalle waiting
for him.  She was deathly pale, but tried hard to
speak calmly.

'You are sure, quite sure,' she said tremblingly,
as she grasped Tom's hand convulsively; 'my
husband and my child!  You saw them?'

Pitying her intensely, Tom told her the whole
story.  She did not faint again--only laid her
head on Solepa's bosom and wept tears of joy
and thankfulness.

Just as Tom rose to leave her, the native girl
beckoned him to come back.

'Did you see any Samoa men in that boat, sir?'
she asked quietly.  'I did have my brother on
board.  His name was Salu.  I 'fraid he was
drown'.'

'There were thirteen men in the boat,' said Tom,
'but I cannot tell you if any of them were
Samoans.  There were only three or four white
men, though; so very likely your brother was
there.  I hope so,' he added kindly.

Solepa smiled sadly.  'I hope so.  But if he is
drown' I will not cry no more now, for we shall
see the captain and little Nita again.'





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.. _`BACK TO FOTUNA`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center medium

   BACK TO FOTUNA

.. vspace:: 2

That morning after breakfast, as the
Adventurer heeled her weather-beaten sides over
the trade wind, and the clanking pumps
sent a stream of clear water through the lee scuppers,
Tom and Bill on the one part, and Herrendeen on
the other part, made a bargain.

Mrs. Casalle had come on deck and was reclining
in a cane lounge, with Solepa sitting at her feet
fondling her hands and looking into her mistress's
face, as she talked volubly to her in Samoan.  With
her new-found happiness shining in her eyes, and
tinting her pale cheeks, Mrs. Casalle seemed to
scarcely heed the girl's prattle--she was trying to
hear the good-natured argument going on between
Tom, the Maori, and the captain.  The two hours'
talk she had had with Tom had not satisfied her;
she wanted to hear his story over and over again;
to hear him tell her how he had carried 'the little
one' up from the beach and placed her in Kate
Gorman's arms; to question him again about her
husband and how he looked, and about Port
Kooringa, and his own father and brother, and Kate--and
then to lie down and think of God's goodness
to her in sparing husband and child to meet her
again.  Oh, if she could but know where they were now!

She closed her eyes for a moment, and tried to
think how many long, long months would pass
before she would hear those loved voices and see
those dear faces again.  The breeze played with her
soft hair under the wide Panama hat she wore, and
then she heard Herrendeen's tones.

'Now, let us go and tell Mrs. Casalle.'

She sat up with extended hands--one for
Herrendeen, the other for Tom--'What is it
you are going to tell me, captain?  Only one
thing in the world can make me happier than I
am now.'

'And I reckon you shall have that one thing
before long,' said the captain, knowing what she
meant, and pressing her hand between both his own.
'Now here is what we have to say.  Young Mr. Wallis
here, and Bill--this is Mr. William Chester,
Mrs. Casalle, one of the best men in the world that
ever gripped a whale lance--and we have been
talking.  They wanted to go in their boat to Fiji,
and I said it was just flyin' in the face of
Providence.'

'But you will not--surely you will not?' she said
to Tom, excitedly; 'think of the dangers of a boat
voyage--the risks, the terrible risks.  I am a sailor's
wife--and I know.'

Tom smiled.  'There is not much risk for us,
Mrs. Casalle.  We could easily reach Fiji in another
day or two.  Why, Captain Casalle and thirteen
men made a voyage of 400 miles in bad weather to
Port Kooringa!  But, as I told you, I was anxious
to get to Fiji because we thought that from there
we could sooner get a ship to Australia.  And my
poor father and brother----'

Her eyes filled at once.  'Ah, of course!  I did
not think of that.  See how selfish and thoughtless
my own happiness makes me!  Forgive me; but
oh, do not go away in the boat; do not, do not, I
beg of you!  You are safer here.  In a boat you
run such awful risks.'

'Just what *I* said, Mrs. Casalle,' broke in
Herrendeen.  '*I* say that this young man, who has had
enough escapes from death to last an or'nary
person all his life, and has a father and brother,
has no business to think of scooting around
the Pacific in a whaleboat when he has a good
solid deck under his feet.  And so he isn't going
to do it.  He's just coming along with us to Samoa.'

'I am so glad; perhaps we may meet my husband
and child there.'

'Just what I said.  Your husband wasn't likely
to stay long at Port Kooringa.  He would naturally
try to get back to Samoa, where he had his trading
station, as soon as he possibly could, if only to settle
up his business before going to sea again.  Now I
shouldn't be a bit surprised if we hear that he has
been there, and we'll know where he's gone to.
Perhaps he may be there when we arrive.'

The wife's eyes lit up, and again a smile illumined
her beautiful face.  'Ah, Captain Herrendeen, how
you talk!  If I were strong enough, I would just
get up and dance with you and Solepa and
Mr. Wallis.  I'm a girl again to-day, and don't care
what I do.  Come here, Tom--I guess I won't say
"Mr." any more--now stoop.  Why, you're as tall as
a man, and I shouldn't do it, but I just shall!' and
putting her hands on Tom's cheeks, she kissed him
half a dozen times, much to the amusement of
Herrendeen and Solepa, the latter clapping her
hands and crying, '*Malie, malie!  Ua fia fia lau
lotu, seula misi!*'[#]

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: left small

   [#] 'Good, good!  Your heart *is* glad, dear mistress!'

.. vspace:: 2

'Yes, Solepa.  My heart is glad.  So glad that I
think sometimes everything is but a happy dream,
and that to-morrow I shall awake to sorrow again,'
said Mrs. Casalle, in English, as she raised her face
to the captain.

'Well, I reckon when you look at me, Mrs. Casalle,
and Tom, and Bill Chester here, and
hear those darned old pumps agoing again, and
have to eat salt pork and beans again for dinner,
you'll conclude it isn't a dream,' said Herrendeen,
with a kindly smile; 'and with this wind we can
lay up pretty close to Fotuna, and ought to be
there by to-morrow night, and then, while we're
getting at this blamed leak, you can rest ashore,
and try and pick up a bit.  Ten days of a beat--if
we have to beat--will bring us to Samoa, and
then, Mrs. Casalle, if your husband is there, you
just shall have a dance with me.'

'Indeed I shall.  You, and Tom here, and you,
Mr. Chester, and Mr. Burr, and every one on this
ship who has been kind to me--and every one *has*
been kind to me--shall dance me off my feet.'  She
spoke merrily, but her voice trembled nevertheless,
and ended in something like a sob, as she
lay back on the lounge, and looked at them with
eyes filled with happy tears.

By this time the boat had been hoisted in, and
presently Maori Bill, lifting his cap to Mrs. Casalle,
went down to the main deck, and picking up a
bunch of young coco-nuts, brought them up on
the poop, and placed them at Solepa's feet.

'These are for thee, O maid with the star-like
eyes!' he said gravely to her in Samoan, 'but
first let me offer one to the white lady.'

Mrs. Casalle started, and smiled as she heard
him speak in Samoan, and then took from him
and drank part of a nut which he opened and
presented to her.  Then she asked Tom to come
below.  'You can stay here, Solepa,' she said in
English to the girl, 'until I call you.'

Maori Bill, although usually slow of speech,
was no laggard in love-making.  Leaning against
the fife-rail, he set to work without delay.

'From what part of Samoa do ye come?' he asked.

'From Leone in Tutuila, where my mistress
lives.  Why do ye ask?'

'Because thou must be my wife.  I love thee.
When we get to Samoa I shall ask for thee.'

'I shall say "No,"' said the girl, looking at him
from the corner of her eye as she raised a
coconut to her lips.

'Why?  Am I ill-favoured?  I will make thee
a good husband.  Many will envy thee.'

'*Aue*!  Hear the man talk!' and Solepa rolled
her eyes up at the sky.  'Tell me, how came ye
to speak my tongue so well?'

'Such things are easy to me,' said Bill, affably;
'when we are married I shall teach thee to speak
good English.  We shall marry in Apia at the
mission church; then thou shalt go to Tutuila
with thy mistress, and wait till I return from
Sydney.  I have money saved up there.  Then
when I return I will buy a cutter, and trade on
the coast.  Hast many poor relations?'

'Not many.'

'That is good.  It is a bad thing for a wife
to have people who eat up her husband's substance.
But yet I am not a mean man.'

'Why dost thou want me for wife?' said the
girl, edging a little nearer to him, and looking up
at his stalwart figure.

'Because I am a widower, and I have some
money saved, and want to live in mine own house
again.  My dead wife was a girl of Thikombia in
Fiji.'

'Pah!' said Solepa, turning down her lips in
contempt.  '*Ou te inoino fafine Viti, e
matapua'a.*'[#]


[#] 'Fiji women disgust me, they are so ugly.'


'True, very true,' said Bill, diplomatically, 'many
of them be ugly; but she was not.  She was
beautiful; but yet not so beautiful as thee,
Solepa.'

He took a silver ring off his little finger, and,
stooping down, lifted her left hand.

.. _`'I shall say "No," said the Girl'`:

.. figure:: images/img-289.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: HE TOOK A SILVER RING OFF HIS LITTLE FINGER.

   HE TOOK A SILVER RING OFF HIS LITTLE FINGER.

'It is large for even the largest of thy fingers,'
he said, placing it on; 'but when we get to Apia
I shall buy thee one of gold.  Art content to
promise me?'

Solepa nodded placidly.  'Ay, I am content to
wed thee; but not content to leave the white
lady.  I would be always *tavini tausi tama* (nurse)
to her.'

Bill waved his hand magnificently.  'It may
be that I shall let thee remain to serve her while
I go to sea.  But I cannot tell now.  Try and
please me, and all will be well.'

Then, filling his pipe, he strolled for'ard, to
announce his engagement to Charlie, for whom he
had conceived a liking.

During the morning Mrs. Casalle gave Tom an
interesting account of her home in Leone Bay, on
the Island of Tutuila.  She had an ardent
admiration of the Samoans generally, and of the girl
Solepa she spoke in terms of absolute affection.
'She saved my life over and over again that
dreadful night, Tom; for although I can swim
unusually well for a white woman, I was dulled
and paralyzed with fear.  Then, when we reached
Elizabeth Reef, she tended and nursed me back
to life again, for I really was at the verge of
death from exhaustion and grief.  I do hope the
poor girl's brother Salu was one of the boat's crew
which reached Port Kooringa.  She has fretted
and grieved in silence, and until this morning has
hardly mentioned his name, for fear it would add
a fresh poignancy to my own constant and
unhappy reflections.'  She paused awhile, and then
resumed, in brighter tones--

'And so, after all your own strange adventures,
you are still bent on a sailor's life?  Would it not
be delightful if you could sail with my husband?
He, of course, now that the Bandolier is lost, must
get another ship.'

'I should be only too glad,' answered Tom,
'especially if Captain Casalle continues in the
South Seas.'

'Well, we shall know before many months--perhaps
weeks--are past.  Of course you will have
to go home first.  Then you must come to us in
Samoa.  Now tell me something about that
strange man, Captain Hayes.  I have often heard
of him from the natives, who always speak well of
him.  He sometimes visits Apia with a cargo of
natives, but our home is sixty miles from there, so
neither my husband nor myself have ever seen him.'

'He knew of Captain Casalle by name,' said
Tom, who then gave her a description of Hayes
himself, his ship's company, and the fight on board.
Then he told her all about old Sam and his
wonderful brig, at which she was greatly amused.

'I should like to meet the dear old fellow,' she
exclaimed.

During the night the wind worked round two or
three points, and enabled the barque to lay a direct
course for Fotuna, and at daylight Singavi Harbour
was plainly in sight, with the yellow-thatched
huts peeping out among the bright green of the
cocoa-palms.

As soon as the Adventurer was safely moored,
the French priest whom Tom had met previously
came on board.  The old man was both surprised
and pleased to see him again, and told him he had
done wisely in returning to the island, instead of
going on the boat to Fiji.  Then Captain Herrendeen
introduced him to Mrs. Casalle, briefly telling
him her story.  The priest was very sympathetic,
and at once urged her and Tom to take up their
abode at the mission until the Adventurer was
ready for sea again.

'You need rest, oh, very much rest, and change
of food, so that you may become strong again.
And next to my own house there is a small
school-house which you shall use as your own.
It shall be made as comfortable as possible.  We
shall be most pleased.  You are the first white
lady we have seen at Fotuna for ten--no,
twelve--years, and my people will be proud, I do assure
you.  Now I shall not delay, but return at once
to prepare for you;' and hurriedly shaking hands
with them, he bustled off ashore again.

By this time the decks were filled with natives
of both sexes, all of whom crowded round
Mrs. Casalle and Solepa, and gave utterance to
expressions of sympathy, when the latter, speaking
in Samoan, told them what had befallen her
mistress and herself.  Presents of fruit were
brought to them in such profusion that within an
hour or two the after deck was completely covered.

Early in the afternoon the mission boat came
alongside, to take Mrs. Casalle, Solepa, and Tom
to the mission station at Alō, as the journey over
the mountain paths would have been more than
the former could have accomplished.  The Singavi
people, however, who were jealous of Alō securing
the *tamaitai papalagi*\[#] as a guest, urged her not
to go in the boat, but let them carry her through
the mountain forest on a litter.  At length, after a
violent dispute between the two parties, the Singavi
natives gave way, on it being pointed out to them
by Maori Bill that although the white lady, Tom,
and the Samoan girl were going to Alō, the
ship would remain at Singavi, and prove a
considerable source of profit to them, as their services
would be required to help in heaving her down.
This ended matters satisfactorily, and bidding the
kind-hearted captain and his officers good-bye for
the present, Tom and Mrs. Casalle went off in the
boat, the brown-skinned crew of which at once
struck up a canoe song as they plunged their long,
narrow-pointed canoe-paddles into the water.

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: left small

   [#] White lady.

.. vspace:: 2

'I'll come and see you in a few days,' called
out Herrendeen, as the boat shot out through the
opening in the reef.

.. _`'The Crew at once struck up a Canoe Song'`:

.. figure:: images/img-295.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: THEY STRUCK UP A CANOE SONG AS THEY PADDLED ALONG.

   THEY STRUCK UP A CANOE SONG AS THEY PADDLED ALONG.

Before starting to heave down the ship, came
the tedious task of discharging over three hundred
barrels of oil, and rafting them ashore; then the
barque was taken in close under a rocky bluff,
which offered excellent facilities to carry out the
work in water as calm as a mill pond, and as
clear as the purest crystal.  The started butt-end
was found and repaired, the ship righted again,
and preparations made for re-shipping the oil by
the morning of the fifth day.

That afternoon Herrendeen visited the mission
house, where he found Mrs. Casalle and Solepa
busy at work with two or three young native women,
making dresses out of some more modestly coloured
prints than those she had been able to obtain on
the Adventurer, which were of the very brightest
hue, being intended only for disposal to the
colour-loving natives of the Moluccas, and other islands
where the captain usually called to buy provisions
during his cruise.

'We'll be ready for sea in another week,' he
said, looking at his passenger with undisguised
admiration.  'Why, Mrs. Casalle, my officers won't
know you again, you look----'  He was about to
say 'so beautiful,' but stopped himself in time.

'Ten years younger, Captain Herrendeen, I
hope you were going to say, but I'll be content if
you say five,' she broke in, with a laugh.  'Have
you seen Father Serge yet?'

'No, I came to see you first, of course; but here
he comes.  Where is Tom?'

Mrs. Casalle nodded her pretty head half a
dozen times in rapid succession, and threw up her
hands in affected indignation.

'Away, of course.  He's never here between
daylight and dark.  If he's not out pig-hunting in
the forest, he's away fishing in the middle of the
ocean between here and Alofi.  He's just deserted
me altogether.  Is not that so, father?' she said
to the old priest, who with another Marist priest
as old as himself just then entered the house to
greet the captain.

'He is what you call a rambler, a rambler!  Oh
yes, a great rambler; but he is a good boy,
madame, a good boy.  Now will you not come
with us, so that we may show our friend here all
over our mission station?'

Just before supper at the mission house that
evening, Tom, brown-faced, dirty, and panting,
came staggering up the pebbled path with a turtle
on his shoulder.

'We got three,' he said triumphantly, putting
the creature down on the verandah,--'and this is
only the smallest.  Hallo, captain, how are you?'

'Tom Wallis, you ought to have been born a
Red Indian or a Samoan,' said Mrs. Casalle,
laughingly.

'That's what my father has often said,
Mrs. Casalle.  And I believe he was right.'





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`TOGETHER AT LAST`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center medium

   TOGETHER AT LAST

.. vspace:: 2

One afternoon, after more than two weeks
had passed, the whaling barque still lay
quietly at anchor in Singavi Harbour,
ready for sea again, and waiting only for a breeze.
For, soon after the repairs were finished, the
trade-wind had flickered and died away, and a
'furious calm,' as Mr. Burr, the chief mate, called
it, had set in, and seemed likely to continue.  The
captain had started off early the previous morning
to walk to the mission house at Alō, and spend a
day or two shooting with Tom and Maori Bill, for
the natives had assured him that there was not the
slightest chance of anything more than the very
lightest airs from the eastward for many days to
come, and he decided that it was better to be lying
at anchor instead of drifting away to the westward.
And so, although Mr. Burr and his fellow-officers,
to whom an idle day was an abomination and a
vexation of spirit, grumbled exceedingly, they had
to admit that the 'old man' was right after all.
The two damaged boats had been repaired, and
were now, as well as the one obtained from Tom
and Bill, fit to be lowered again, should whales be
seen whilst the ship was at anchor.  Look-outs
had been stationed on two of the highest points of
the island, and a series of smoke-signals arranged,
so that if by good luck a whale or whales should be
sighted from the mountains, the boats would know
where to look for them, if they were not visible from
the ship.

The day had been intensely hot, and at five
o'clock Mr. Burr and the second mate, as they sat
under the awning on the poop deck, were eating
oranges and pineapples with a steady determination
to do some kind of work.

Presently a canoe came off from the beach and
brought off the shore look-outs, who duly came aft
and reported.

'See anything, you fellows?' asked the mate,
stabbing a pineapple through with his knife and
drawing it to him.

'Saw 'bout nine or ten finbacks close in under
the south point 'bout an hour ago,' drawled one of
the look-outs.

'Finbacks is pizen, and ain't fit to be mentioned
to a decent man.  Snakes and finbacks air a curse
to humanity.  But if we hev to lie here and rot
much longer, and one of them comes foolin' around,
I'm going to put an iron into him, and let him
tow me all around this island for forty days and
forty nights.  See any blackfish?'

'Nary one.  But there's a ship way out to the
northward.  Saw her early this morning.  Reckon
she ain't much nearer now.  'Bout fifteen mile off now.'

Mr. Burr displayed a faint interest, and then,
being a good-natured, thoughtful man, said to his
subordinate--

'Like to take a boat and pull round to the
mission house and tell the old man?  If that
ship is bound to Fiji, she'll most likely pass
between here and Alofi, and maybe he or the
little woman might want to send a letter.  You
can stay all night if you like.'

The second mate was only too glad to get away
from the ship for a night; and soon after supper
he called his boat's crew and started, secretly
hoping that on the way back in the morning he
might raise a whale.

As the boat rounded the southern point of the
island, a gentle, cooling breath of air came from
the eastward, and the mate sniffed it approvingly,
not because it was laden with the sweet scent of
*maso'i*, *tamanu*, and wild orange trees of the
mountain forest, but because it felt to his cheeks
as if it were the re-awakening to life again of the
long-waited-for trade wind.

'Guess the captain won't do much gunning
to-morrow,' he remarked in the condescending manner
peculiar to whaleship officers, who in rare moments
of relaxation unbend themselves sufficiently to
make an observation to members of the crew not
directly connected with their vocation.  'There's
going to be a steady breeze before morning, in
spite of what these copper-coloured Kanaka folks
say.  Give way, there.  I'm mighty glad we came
now.  Maybe we'll get back again to-night.'

The officer's surmise seemed likely to prove
correct, for by the time the boat was abreast of
the mission station, and just as the evening fires
of the natives were being lit, the breeze had
certainly strengthened.

Landing directly in front of the white-walled
church, the crew hauled the boat up on the soft
white sand, and were soon surrounded by the
usual crowd of inquisitive natives, while the mate
walked on up the hill to the mission house, where
he found his captain, Mrs. Casalle, and Tom at
supper with the two old fathers.

'Mr. Burr reckoned he had better let you know
that there is a ship in sight to the northward; the
look-out saw her early this morning, and thinks
she's coming this way.  If so, she'll be in the
straits here by midnight.  And there's a steady
breeze coming, captain; guess this eternal calm is
about broke up.'

This latter news decided Captain Herrendeen to
leave Alō as soon as the moon rose, which would
be an hour before midnight, as he would thus have
time to reach Singavi by daylight, get the ship
under way and well out from the lee of the land
as soon as possible; for should it fall calm again
he would either have to anchor or tow back again,
to avoid the strong westerly current.  As for the
vessel which the look-outs had sighted, he
determined to speak her in the morning, if it could
possibly be done.

His hospitable hosts, knowing his anxiety to put
to sea again, did not persuade him to wait till
morning; but, calling their servants, bade them
carry down and fill the mission boat with fruit
and vegetables for the use of the ship's company.
Then, as there were still some hours before them,
supper was proceeded with, and the rest of the
evening was spent on the verandah.

At last the time came to say farewell.  The moon
had risen, and sent a long steady blade of light
down the strait, the breeze was blowing fresh and
cool and rustling the line of palms in the mission
garden, and the two boats with their crews were
waiting on the beach.

'Come, my friends,' said the older of the two
missionaries to his guests, 'let us go.  My brother
Garnier and myself are not so old that we cannot
walk down with you to the boat.'

As the little procession left the mission it was
joined by some hundreds of young women and lads,
who pressed forward to say good-bye to Mrs. Casalle
and Solepa; many of them were unable to restrain
their tears, and Tom could not help remarking
upon their warm-hearted impulsiveness to Captain
Herrendeen, adding that Hayes had told him that
the Fotuna natives were inclined to be saucy and
domineering.

'Ah,' said the old priest, who overheard him,
'but Captain Hayes did not understand the changes
we have made here of late years.  The Fotunans
were always a more suspicious and irritable people
than the other Polynesians; even now they do not
take quickly to strangers like the Samoans or Tahitians,
but that is because there is a strain of Papuan
blood in them.  And it is not more than twenty
years ago since my predecessor, Père Channel,
was beaten to death by their clubs here at Alō.'

They reached the boats, and then, almost in
silence, Tom and Mrs. Casalle bade the good old
men farewell.

'Farewell, madame; farewell, Tom!' murmured
Père Serge, who was almost afraid to trust his own
voice, as he took their hands in his; 'may Heaven
protect you both!  You have both suffered much,
but now happiness is near to you.  Think of us
sometimes, living out our quiet lives on this lonely
little island.  And to you farewell, captain, and to
you, sir, and to you,' as he held out his hand to
Herrendeen, the second mate, and Maori Bill; 'may
your voyage be a very happy, a very prosperous
one!  Perhaps in a year or two you may come to
Fotuna again, and tell me that you have killed many
whales.'

Another hand-grasp, and Mrs. Casalle and the
captain took their seats in the whaler's boat,
Bill--who contrived to get Solepa and Tom with
him--took charge of the other, and the word was given
to push off.

The priests, surrounded by their flock, stood
watching on the beach, and then, as the boats
cleared the reef and headed southward, Tom and
the captain stood up and waved their hats.  For
some minutes the two black-garbed figures remained
stationary, silhouetted against the white background
of moonlit beach; then they turned and disappeared
under the shadow of the palms.

When the boats were a few hundred yards
beyond the barrier-reef the oars were taken in, the
sails hoisted, and soon both were slipping quickly
over the water, which, though ruffled by the gentle
breeze, was very smooth.  The mission boat,
however, being both clumsy and heavily laden, dropped
behind considerably, and gradually the voices of her
native crew, who were singing merrily as they sailed,
grew indistinct.

'We mustn't run away from them, Captain
Herrendeen,' said Mrs. Casalle, quickly.  'Don't
think me nervous, but even being in a boat now
terrifies me, and Tom is such an awful boy.  If it
came on to blow hard, he would just be delighted.
Why, as we were leaving I asked him to come with
us, but he said he wanted to go with Mr. Chester,
as they might pick up a turtle in the moonlight!
And that boat is loaded down to the gunwales
already.  If they swamped'--she shuddered--'and
anything happened to him, it would break my
heart.'

Captain Herrendeen laughed, but lowered the
peak of the mainsail, so as to decrease the speed
of the boat.

'Why, he swims like a native, Mrs. Casalle, and
would enjoy the thing; but there, we'll wait for
them.'

'Thank you, captain.  I know I'm silly, but I
can't help it.  And I was thinking of sharks.
Oh!  I saw such a dreadful thing once in the
Paumotu Group, when a canoe full of people upset,
on just such a moonlight night'----

'Hallo! what's that?' cried the second mate, as
a report of a gun came from the other boat.

Herrendeen luffed, and looked astern at the
same time.

'Tom's having a shot at nothing, to get rid of
his superfluous energy--hallo! there's another,' as
a flash and a second report came, followed by a
hail.

'Why, they're hailing--the boat's filling, I expect!
Down with the sail there, you men!  We must
pull up to her.'

The sail was quickly lowered, and the boat
headed back under the long sweeping strokes of
five oars.  The mission boat, however, still came
on, running steadily before the wind.

'What's the matter with you?' shouted
Herrendeen, as he came within speaking distance.

'Nothing,' answered the Maori, 'but look over
there, just under the shadow of the land.  There's
that ship, close in.  We fired to make you bring to.'

A quick glance at the spot indicated showed
Captain Herrendeen the vessel.  She was rather
more than a mile astern of both boats, and
gradually overhauling them.

'She's coming down this way, sure enough,' he
said to his second mate, 'and will be out through the
straits by daylight if she's bound to the westward.
Guess I'll hang on here a bit, and wait for her.
You can go on, Bill, and tell Mr. Burr to heave
short at daylight.  I'll be along presently, as soon
as I have spoken this ship, and find out where's
she going.  Mrs. Casalle, will you go in that boat
or stay with me?'

'I'll stay with you, captain.  Tom, you come
too, please.  Solepa, you can go on if you like.'

Tom, eager to get on board the strange ship, at
once changed into the captain's boat, and Bill,
with Solepa pretending to protest that she did not
wish to reach the Adventurer before her mistress,
at once went on, using both sail and paddles.

As the stranger was still a mile distant, Captain
Herrendeen decided to pull up and meet her.  By
the manner in which she was running down the
coast, it was evident that the master of her knew
the island pretty well; and indeed as soon as she
came abreast of the southern point she hauled her
wind, and lay up along the western shore.

'That looks as if he was going into Singavi,
Carey,' said Herrendeen to the second mate; 'but
still he may not be.  At the same time he's
altogether too close.  Give way, men, we'll soon
be up to him.  He'll lose most of the breeze, now
he's rounded the corner.'

In a quarter of an hour the vessel was so close,
and the night so clear, that figures could be
discerned moving about her decks, and presently, as
the boat came nearer, a man came to the stern
rail and hailed in a clear voice:

'Boat ahoy there!  Do you want to come aboard?'

'Yes, if you're not going into Singavi.'

'We are going there; but come aboard all the
same,' said a second voice.

Mrs. Casalle clutched Tom's arm convulsively,
and he felt her figure tremble.

'Oh, Tom, that sounded so like my poor
husband's voice!  It's all your fault, you've
frightened me so----'

'Ay, ay,' replied Herrendeen.  'I'll come aboard.
Don't bring to.'

Pulling up alongside the vessel, which now had
barely more than steerage way on her, owing to her
being so close under the lee of the high land,
Captain Herrendeen caught hold of a rope's end
which was lowered to him at the main chains and
swung himself aboard.

'Push off, Mr. Carey, and go ahead.  You'll be
in a good hour or more before this ship.  Orders
as before for Mr. Burr--heave short at daylight.'

The boat dropped astern, and the crew, bending
to their oars, sent her skimming ahead, much to the
disappointment of Tom, who, had there been time,
would have followed the captain.

The moment Herrendeen was on deck he shook
hands with a man who was evidently the captain.

'How do, captain?  Say, you're in a bit close;
there's an inshore set of current just here.  The
Comboy went ashore here in a calm; five boats
couldn't tow her clear of the reef.'

'Much obliged to you, sir,' said the captain, who
at once gave the necessary orders, and the ship
was at once kept away from the land.  She answered
her helm so slowly, however, and her canvas hung
so limp, that both Herrendeen and the strange
skipper were alarmed as they looked at the land.

'Take a cast of your lead, sir,' said the former
quickly; 'you're setting inshore.  I can hear the
surf.  If you can't get bottom at twenty fathoms,
you'll have to tow off; there's a sudden drop from
twenty fathoms to a hundred, we're just on the
edge of it.'

A seaman sprang into the fore chains, took a cast
of the lead, and reported no bottom.

'You'll have to tow off, captain,' said Herrendeen;
'it's better to be sure than sorry.'

Two well-manned boats were at once lowered,
and in a few minutes the vessel began to move
ahead.

'We're all right now, sir, I think,' said the captain
to Herrendeen, as he looked over the side, 'thanks
to you;' and then, as he saw two figures on the
after-deck evidently waiting to approach him and
his visitor, he seized Herrendeen's arm and said
hurriedly--

'Have you heard anything about Bully Hayes
having been here?'

'Yes, all about it.'

'Anything about a boy named Wallis and a
Maori half-caste?'

'*They're here*!  The boy was in that boat of
mine which was alongside just now; the Maori--Bill
Chester you mean--is here too.'

'Thank God! thank God!' said the stranger;
'here are his father and brother;' and then, dragging
Herrendeen with him, he called out in quavering
tones--

'Tom is here, Wallis!  Tom is here!'

For some moments all discipline on board the
Malolo was lost, for the crew on deck and the men
in the boats caught up the skipper's cry, and cheer
after cheer went up, as Mr. Wallis and Jack seized
Herrendeen's hands, with eager tremulous questions
on their lips.

Captain Casalle walked quickly away to where
Mr. Brooker was standing up forward, watching the
ship.  He leant on the rail in silence for some
minutes.

'Brooker, old shipmate,' he began in a low voice,
as he turned to the mate, 'such news as that is
heaven to a father's heart, and to me as well, for it
was through me that the boy has suffered so.  And
now I thank God he is found.'

'Just so, captain,' said Brooker, sympathetically;
'I feel most almighty pleased myself: I do.'

Another minute or two passed, and then the
murmur of the three voices on the after-deck
suddenly ceased, and Mr. Wallis cried out
sharply--

'Casalle, Casalle!  Where are you?'

The captain ran to meet him.  'What is it,
Wallis?'  In the dim morning light he saw that
the man's usually quiet, grave eyes were glittering
under some almost uncontrollable emotion.  'What
is it, Wallis?  Is Tom ill?'

'Tom is well, Casalle,' said Wallis, trying to
speak calmly, 'and as God has spared my son to
me, so has He spared your wife to you.  She is
here at Fotuna, and was alongside in the same
boat with Tom!'

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Half an hour later, as the Malolo, whose boats
were towing astern, came in sight of Singavi
Harbour and the Adventurer, Captain Herrendeen
stepped up from below, with rather misty eyes,
and spoke to Mr. Brooker and Henry Casalle,
both of whom were at that moment talking over
the exciting events of the past hour.  That they
should find Tom safe, and actually arrive at the
island on the morning of the very day he was
leaving it, was a strange and fortunate
circumstance; but that their captain's wife should not
only be alive and well, but have been rescued by
the same ship which had afterwards picked up
Tom and Maori Bill, was stranger still.

'How do you do, gentlemen?' said Herrendeen
to the two officers, and shaking hands with them
both.  'There's no need for me to ask which of you
is Mr. Casalle--you and your brother are as alike
as the two sheaves in a double block.  I guess
there's going to be a high old time aboard these
two ships to-day.'

When within half a mile of the Adventurer,
Captain Casalle, Mr. Wallis, Jack, and little Nita
left the Malolo in one of her whaleboats, leaving
Captain Herrendeen on board to pilot her in.  As
they drew near, they saw that Mr. Burr was
heaving short and the hands loosing sails.

The boat drew up alongside, and Mr. Wallis--as
had been arranged between him and Captain
Casalle--first went up the side and met Mr. Burr
at the gangway.

'I am Tom's father,' he said quickly; 'is he below?'

'Just having a cup of coffee,' answered the
mate, shaking hands with the visitor.  'Come
with me, sir.'

'One moment, please;' and then Mr. Wallis
asked the mate if Mrs. Casalle was with him.

'No, she told me she was tired.  I guess she's
turned in.'

'All the better.  Her husband is here with me,
and we feared that the shock of seeing him so
unexpectedly might be harmful to her.  Will you
send Tom on deck first?'  Then, going to the
gangway, he called to Jack and Captain Casalle
to come up.

Mr. Burr descended into the cabin.  Tom
was seated at the table, drinking coffee with
Solepa.

'Come on deck, Tom,' said the mate, quickly;
'you stay there, girl.'

Wondering what was the matter, Tom followed
him on deck, and in a few moments was clasped
in his father's arms, then in Jack's, and then in
Captain Casalle's.

Mr. Wallis drew the mate aside and spoke
hurriedly with him; then the two went below, and
the mate knocked at Mrs. Casalle's cabin door.

'Have you turned in, Mrs. Casalle?'

'No, Mr. Burr.  But I feel a little tired, and am
lying down.  Come in, please.'

The mate opened the door and looked in with
a smiling face.

'I hev great news for you, Mrs. Casalle.  Tom's
father and brother are here; and Mr. Wallis is
here outside, and wants to see you mighty
particular.  He's seen your husband quite recent.'

In an instant she was on her feet, and out into
the main cabin with hands outstretched to Tom's
father.

'Mrs. Casalle, this is a happy meeting.  I have
seen my boy, and now I come to tell you that
your husband and child are near, very near.'

'Very near!  Ah, do not keep me in suspense!
Tell me, tell me now!  See, I am not excited.
There, see!'  And she sat down and folded her
trembling hands, and looked into his face with
swimming eyes.  '*Ah, he is here now*!  I can see
it in your face.  He is on board that ship, and the
voice I heard was his!'

Wallis, affected almost as much as she was,
could no longer delay telling her.

'Yes, it was his voice.  Stay here; I will bring
him to you.'

He sprang up the companion way.  Casalle,
with Nita's hand held tightly in his own, was
waiting.  They went below.

And as Wallis passed by the open skylight to
join Tom and Jack, he heard the woman's voice--

'Ramon!  Ramon!  My husband, my husband!
My child, my child!'





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.. _`OUTWARD BOUND`:

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   CHAPTER XIX


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   OUTWARD BOUND

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Once more the white Malolo lay under
Garden Island in fair Sydney Harbour,
with but three hands aboard to keep
anchor watch, for there were great doings at
Mr. Biffen's house, which was lit up below and aloft, and
every hand who could be spared had gone ashore.

Two months had come and gone since the
Adventurer and Malolo parted company off the
verdured hills of Fotuna Island, with cheer after
cheer from the crews, as the barque headed
north-westward for the whaling grounds, and the
schooner stood southward for Sydney.

In the grounds of the merchant's house, which
overlooked the Harbour, Mr. Wallis was entertaining
not only the crew of the Malolo, but that of
the Lady Alicia as well, for in the morning there
had been a wedding--Mr. William Henry Chester
to Miss Solepa Tuisila.  The ceremony had been
attended with what Mr. Brooker called
'tremendous fixins,' Mr. Wallis giving the bride
away, and Captain Samuel Hawkins acting as
best man to 'William Henry.'  Among the
guests, too, were old Foster and Kate Gorman,
who had come up to Sydney in the asthmatic old
'Puffing Billy' to see Tom--only to bid him
farewell again, for he was not returning to Port
Kooringa with his father and Jack.  He had won
his father's consent, and was bound to Samoa in
the Malolo as supercargo--much to the delight of
Maori Bill, who, to old Sam's sorrow, was also
leaving in the schooner, to become overseer on
Captain Casalle's station at Leone Bay.  Charlie
also had shipped on the Malolo, declaring that
wherever Tom and Bill went he would go too.

Upstairs, as red-haired, true-hearted Kate
Gorman was clasping little Nita to her ample
bosom for the last time, and with fast-falling tears
singing her to sleep, as she had so often done before
in the old house at Port Kooringa, when her
heart was almost breaking for Tom, the 'babby
that was her own darlin',' Tom himself came in.

'What, crying, Kate, old woman!' and he
patted her cheeks with his rough brown hands;
'come, don't cut up so.  You'll see Nita again in
less than a year, for when we return we are
coming to Port Kooringa in the Malolo herself.
Now put Nita to bed and come down-stairs; we
all want you, father and Jack, and Captain Casalle,
and his brother, and Mrs. Casalle, and everybody.'

Kate dried her tears.  'Shure I'll come, av it's
only to kape that silly ould man Foster quiet. It's
dhrinkin' too much he is I'm shure.'

Old Sam, whose face was redder than ever, was
making a speech embracing a variety of subjects,
from the good looks and faithful services of the bride
to the bridegroom's abilities as a pugilist and a
seaman, the remarkable career of the Lady Alicia,
and something about a fight he had had when he
was a boy at school, all of which were interspersed
with sage reflections on the ways of Providence in
bringing together husband and wife, and brother
and brother, and father and son, and indefinite
allusions to an Indian juggler he once saw at
Rangoon.  Then, turning to Tom, who sat beside him,
he clapped him on the shoulder, and brought his
speech to a conclusion in these words:

'And I'm sure Tom my boy that you have the
makings of a good sailor in you and that Captain
Casalle will find it out in the same luminous manner
as me and poor Mr. Collier did not forgetting
Mr. de Cann who also remarked on your inset
proclivities which is only right and proper in a boy of
British blood to whom salt water is his natural
substance meaning no disrespect to your brother Jack
here who tells me he feels more at home with a horse
to which I am addicted myself if he is towing a cart
or other vesicule and may you have all the good luck
in the world ashore or elsewhere and in any position
and old Sam Hawkins knows you won't do
anything that isn't fair square ship-shape and Bristol
fashion.  To you also Mrs. Casalle I drink your
health with the same sentiments as those here set
down and here's success to the Malolo and her
captain and officers and crew including the bride.
William Henry you've deserted me but you done
it for a profound object which I admire secretly
for if her skin is dark her heart is true blue.  Good
luck go with you William and I hope you'll be a
good wife to him miss for you won't get another
like him no matter how precarious you may be
positioned as a widow which I trust may not occur
to you under present circumstances.'

Vociferous applause from the Malolos and Lady
Alicias, during which Maori Bill, having been
informed by Jack that he must respond to the toast
of the bride's health, promptly declined, and
immediately went on board and turned in, leaving the
bride to fulfil her duties of nurse to little Nita.

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Again the merry clink of the windlass pawls, as
the Malolo's anchor comes underfoot to the rousing
chanty of 'Outward Bound.'  On the after-deck
are gathered Mr. Wallis, Jack, Foster, Kate
Gorman, and old Sam, the latter resplendent in
his frock coat, shiny bell-topper, and lavender kid
gloves.  They have all come to say farewell to Tom
and the Casalles--a farewell that has in it no touch
of sadness, but is full of bright hopes for the future.

The topsails are sheeted home, the tug steams
ahead and tautens the tow-line, and the beautiful
schooner begins to move.

One parting hand-grasp all round, and the shore
party go down the gangway into the Customs
launch.  Mrs. Casalle and Solepa come to the side,
and Tom, seizing little Nita in his arms, carries
her halfway up the mizzen rigging, so that she
may see the very last of Jack and his father and
Kate; and then, at a signal from Mr. Brooker, the
crew, led by Henry Casalle, come rushing aft and
give three parting cheers.

And so, with the bright morning sun shining on
her snowy canvas, the Malolo heads eastward to
the open sea, and Tom Wallis has his heart's
desire at last.

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   THE END

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   PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
   LONDON AND BECCLES.

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